


Dancing With The Devil

by DominantLance, NalatteIceCream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Keith punches Lance in the face, Lotor gets punched in the face, M/M, Pornstars, Squirting, Stepper Lance, Stepping, Tbh there’s a lot going on in this fic it’ll keep you entertained, Trans Keith (Voltron), afab language, explicit use of AFAB language, frat boy lance, pornstars AU, seriously lmao if you don’t like afab language don’t read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 00:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18927703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DominantLance/pseuds/DominantLance, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NalatteIceCream/pseuds/NalatteIceCream
Summary: Keith goes to a frat party, a frat party at Morehouse, and wow. A LOT of things happen because of it.





	Dancing With The Devil

  “You’ve never seen a step before?” Hunk almost whisper-yells, staring at Keith like he’d just admitted to murdering the president. “How can you be a student here and not have seen a step before?”   
  
  He has to talk loud enough to be heard over the mass of people in the living room, which is… a lot  but that's always the case when he plans a party. Say what you will about Hunk, but he’s an excellent frat party planner. So excellent in fact, that apparently, kids of different colors are admitted just to see. Keith laughs over his cup. “Hunk. Buddy. I am not a student here.”   
  
Hunk stares at him for a second, before it clicks. Right. Morehouse doesn’t do light. “Oh yeahh. Well then why _are_ you here?”  

 “I got invited.”  

 Hunk looks Keith up and down. No fucking way. “How the hell did your ignorant ass manage to get invited here?”

 Keith makes a vague _I wouldn’t know_ noise, and Hunk raises a brow in question, but before he can try to figure out who in the hell would have invited him, he hears stomping, rhythmic and repetitive in nature from the top of the stairs. Slowly, the music starts to die down, and what once started as three or four people cheering soon multiplies into twenty, thirty people. With each stomp, Hunk swears he can feel the house shake.

 He grins. “Well. Wanna _see_ some steppers?”

 Keith doesn’t get a chance to object. Hunk grabs him by the wrist and pulls him forward, towards the stomping. The cheering has only gotten louder, and if Keith’s ears are working like he hopes they are, a group of men chanting together. _Fuck is this?_ “Hunk, what the f—”   
  
 “Shut your uncultured ass up,” Hunk snorts, pulling him all the way to the bottom of the stairs. He wobbles a little bit, pushing Keith in front of him. _“Those_ are steppers.”

 Keith starts to push back and tell him that he gets unnecessarily pushy when he’s drunk, but he’s already staring at the line of frat boys  stomping down the last of the stairs, and leaning _dangerously_ far to the right with each step. There’s seven of them— eight? Keith can’t really tell,  but they’ve all got on black and gold letterman jackets, and from the sound of it? Cargo boots. Something tells Keith that they'll be black, because why wouldn't they be, right?

 The man in the very front, with an undercut and locs, stays silent, stomping down the stairs with the calm of a man in charge. There’s a whistle around his neck, and he keeps his hands behind his back until his feet touch the ground floor. They freeze, and everyone quiets down again, save for the occasional “Go the fuck off!” from the back of the room.   
  
Keith leans closer to Hunk, whispering into his ear. “...Who is that, Hunk?”   
  
  “That? Is _The_ alpha of the Alphas. Ryan Kinkade. A _legend_ on campus. Rumor has it he came from halfway across the world to get here.” Hunk mutters. “Step line has never been cleaner than it has since he became the whistleblower.”     
  
“Whistleblower?” Keith asks, and right on cue, Kinkade blows into his whistle and marches forward again, the other seven— or six?-- steppers close on his heels. It isn’t long before the cheering starts up again, but Keith is too busy trying to see what he’s dealing with to care about how annoying it is. “Help me out, Hunk. Who are they?”   
  
 “They would be the step line,” Hunk says with a smug lilt to his voice. He points to each person as they march by, grinning like a fucking parent. “Right behind Kinkade is Rax. A.k.a Bulldozer. He’s anchor, ‘cause he’s the most heavyset when it comes to stomping. Normally the anchor would be in the back, but sometimes he gets to show off. Next is Matthias, a.k.a Matrix. He’s second seat. Then Rizavi, the Techmaster. Third seat. That’s Cairo, a.k.a Beeswax, Reeves, Adonis, a.k.a Heartstrings, and—”   
  
  “Aye!” The last stepper exclaims, throwing his arms around Hunk’s neck with a laugh. “Yooo, Hunk, my guy, I’d be disappointed that you’re not stepping with us tonight but this party? Fucking dope, man.”   
  
  Keith stares at him, this blue-eyed brown-skinned man with the undercut and a black and gold jacket that he’s almost _convinced_ he’s hallucinating right now. No one looks that good in reality. _No one_ . The man notices him staring, and smirks. “Ay, papi. You like what you see?”   
  
  _Yes_ , Keith screams internally, but he settles for a far more intelligent sounding “Uh—”   
    
 “Lance! The line,” Hunk stresses, waving him off. “Go, before Kinkade chews you out!”   
  
“He never chews me out,” Lance snorts. He gives Keith a once over  as he turns on his heels, disappearing into the crowd again. Keith stares after him, just barely catching the letters on the back of his jacket. _Sharpshooter_. “...Who—”

 “Lance McClain. First chair, Kinkade’s right hand man.” 

“Why was he in the back?” 

“Well, you just saw firsthand why. He’s a flirt. Can’t flirt when you’re right behind your superior, can you?” 

Keith opens his mouth to object, probably with something dumb, probably with something ignorant like _yeah you can just don’t get caught_ , but Hunk’s pulling him after the sound of aggressive stomping yet again. This time, he pulls him up to the edge of a half-circle in the living room, standing in front of the step line. Keith’s eyes fall right on Lance, who’s now standing beside Kinkade with his arms behind his back, and a cocky little smirk on his lips. _Damn_ . Black and gold looks fucking _good_ on him.

 The room goes silent, save for the quiet hissing that falls from Rizavi’s lips. Kinkade holds his hand up, and the hissing stops. After a beat of silence, Lance steps forward, grinning like a menace.

 “Yo... _What the fuck is up with everybody tonight?!”_

 His voice booms through the all too crowded house, deep and alluring, so alluring that it seems to settle heavy in Keith’s bones. It fills his chest with excitement, and he feels like he can hear his heart in his ears. The crowd behind Keith goes off again, everyone cheering and yelling at Lance. For Lance.  He continues, pacing back and forth in front of Kinkade. “ _We?_ Are Alpha! Phi! Alpha! _Big dogs_ on campus, ya _heeeaard_ me?”

 Hunk whoops next to Keith, louder than everyone else, holding his cup in the air with the rest of the people in the room. Lance just laughs. “Energyyyy!”   
  
  _“ENERGY!!_ ” The crowd roars back. He slaps his hands against his chest. _“That’s what I’m talking about, baby!!!”_

 Keith’s ears are fucking ringing at this point, but he realizes that he likes it. He likes the electricity that zaps through the air, he likes the stupid smug smirk on Lance’s lips, how contagious it is. It’s gets him so revved up that he starts cheering with Hunk, and although it gets him a few dirty looks from around the room, he doesn’t care.   
  
  Lance realizes that he’s cheering, catches his eye over the sea of bodies, and grins even harder, shooting him a wink before standing still again. “For those of you who do _not_ know me...Ladies.”   
  
  The women in the room start cheering, wailing, really, like Lance is some type of celebrity and they’re about to throw their panties at him. And honestly, if Keith wore panties, he would too. Lance waits for them to calm back down before he speaks again, licking his lips and slipping his thumbs into his pockets. “Fellas.”  

 The room explodes into laughter, some cat calls and hoots echoing around the room, and it takes a second for Keith to realize that it’s a good thing. He watches as Lance holds his hands up in front of his chest, like the rest of the line.  “My name! Is Lance, _McClain_ , but you may call me _Sharpshooter!”_

   He leans forward, slapping his hands onto his thighs and across his chest, stomping his feet against the floor, and the way he’s moving so effortlessly? The dumb ass smirk on his face like he knows he’s good? Has Keith reeling in the best of ways. He stops, crouches down on one knee like he’s setting up a rifle, and points his fingers right at Keith. _“Boom.”_   
  
And honestly? Keith doesn’t even notice the dirty looks because it actually feels like he’s been shot. Maybe not by a rifle, but the warmth exploding from his chest and spreading outwards makes it feel like he’s been hit by _something_. Hunk laughs into Keith’s ear but Keith isn’t listening. Keith doesn’t _care._ He’s too caught up right now, eyes trained on the man on the floor. The man who is   _seriously_ about to give him a heart attack.

 Lance stands upright again, arms wide open with a silent “What’s good?”, Kinkade jabs him in the shoulder. “The hell you think you’re doing, McClain?”   
  
Oh shit. Hunk starts jeering, low in his throat, and it isn’t long before damn near the entire room is doing the same. Keith stares with wide eyes as Lance and Kinkade stare each other down, until Lance’s face splits into a grin. _It isn’t real_ , he realizes. It’s a performance, a show. Keith can’t help but think Lance is pretty good at it.

   “You know I gotta let everybody know what’s up.” 

“ _Beat his ass, Ryan!”,_ someone calls from the back of the crowd, and the walls shake with laughter as he “shoves” Lance back into the line. He stumbles like a child, spins and wobbles until he finally stands still beside Mattias, and Keith can’t help but laugh at his dramatics. Ryan stands there, surveying the room, until everyone goes silent.

 He speaks. “My name. Is Ryan Kinkade. _I_ am the conductor. I _am_ the whistleblower,” And his voice holds so much bass that it almost startled Keith, “ _I_ am the man in charge, so please tell me, _First Chair,_ ” he says, turning back to look at Lance. “I need to hear it again. Who are _we?”_

 “Alpha phi Alpha,” Lance says, that stupid ass grin still stuck on his face. A dumb, infuriating, sexy grin. Ryan smacks him on his chest. “Who?”   
  
_“Alpha phi Alpha,”_ Lance repeats. Ryan hits him again.

 “I said _who?”_  
  
_“Alpha phi Alpha, founded in 1906, the very first black fraternity to ever exist, 800 plus chapters, thousands of pledges, one brotherhood, one family, one mission! First of all, servants of all, we shall transcend all, sir!”_  
  
“I don’t think they heard you, First Chair,” Ryan says, turning back to face the crowd, and there’s just the hint of a grin on his lips, “So I guess we gotta show ‘em, don’t we??”   
_  
_ The line raises their hands in the air, and for a split second there’s a pause, this feeling of tension in the room that Keith can’t place, a sort of static electricity that dances across Keith’s skin and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand in end. And then they’re all moving at once, every stomp of their feet, every clap of their hands, every _breath_ that they _take_ resonating deep in Keith’s goddamn soul. The sea of people behind him surges upwards, it seems, pushing and pulsing with this energy Keith’s never felt before. Giving and receiving and giving it back. He feels it in the floor, in the walls around him. He sees it in the line. He sees it in Lance, sees it burning bright in those eyes, swirling like neverending depths of blue drawing Keith further and further into the deep end, drowning him. And the scariest thing isn’t that Keith’s drowning, it’s that he wants to stay floating in that abyss.

 Lance, who throughout the step, never once stops fucking grinning. He’s probably the most animated out of the entire line, if we’re talking honesty— his face changes constantly, from going bug-eyed to sticking his goddamn tongue out of his mouth, and back to that cocky ass smirk. It’s fascinating to see, fascinating to _feel_ , this damn near intoxicating vibe he's giving off. Keith almost doesn’t understand why his pledge name is Sharpshooter instead of Loverboy, but then he sees it.

 A glance around the room. A shift in his gaze, like a target lock, almost. The way he bites his lip, eyes still locked on _whoever_ the hell he’s looking at, a dark look in his eyes, like a predator that’s located it’s prey and is moving in for the kill. Keith isn’t even the one behind the look, but it gets his heart racing, to the point where he can feel it in his throat. Somebody, somewhere, wails, no doubt the person who’s on the receiving end of those eyes.

 

  So that’s why they call him Sharpshooter. Keith can’t say he has a complaint.

 

“You feeling it, yet?” Hunk asks over the uproar, cheeks just a shade darker from the juice he’s drinking and the vibes in the room. “You see why this is such a big deal here??”   
  
  Keith nods, clutching his cup with shallow breaths through his mouth. It leaves him breathless, this _thing_ that he’d thought was just another club. Another hobby. Something _menial_ . He’s not even sure if he can blame it on the liquor, or on the lack of air from _yelling_ so much. It’s something else. Something deeper.

 Lance catches his eye again, and he looks almost expectant. Smug. Like he knew exactly what Keith had been thinking the second he first laid eyes on him. Keith stumbles, sucking in a gasp for air he didn’t even know that he was deprived of. A silent boast. _You like what you see?_ And if Keith could find it in him to say anything back he’d say, _Yeah, yeah, I do._

  Ryan’s whistle drops from his lips— Keith doesn’t even remember him putting it in his mouth— and the line stops yet again. Lance looks ahead, eyes shining with some sort of passion that Keith can’t place. And even though the crowd behind him is still moving, still pulsing with an energy of their own, he can _breathe_ . He feels like he’s just come down from some kind of high, some sort of fucking cloud nine he didn’t know existed. “...Fucking shit, man.”   
  
 Hunk laughs, slapping his hand on his back. “ _Shit, man_ indeed.”

The steppers break out of formation, mingling with the sea of people in the living room, and Keith is...Stuck. Stuck, like a deer in headlights, because Lance has also slipped into the crowd, and is headed straight for him. Or at least, that’s what he assumes, before he walks past him and throws his arms around Hunk’s neck instead, who returns the hug with a hearty slap on the back. That seems to be something he likes to do when he’s drunk. “Lance, you were on _fire_ out there! That was even better than it was during practice!”   
  
  Lance pushes off of Hunk with a loud snort, stepping back to pull his letterman jacket off. “It was because I got to see your beautiful face in the crowd. And your friend’s, of course,” he hums, jutting his chin in Keith’s direction. Keith won’t admit how fast his cheeks flushed red, and if anyone asked him in that moment he’d claim it was the alcohol. “Speaking of which— I don’t think I caught your name.”   
  
 Keith swallows, feeling almost dwarfed in Lance’s presence. Like a child or some wild shit like that. He clears his throat, pushing his hair behind his ears in an attempt to regain at least some of his dignity. It doesn’t help. “Keith.”   
  
  Lance raises his brows as he folds his jacket over his arm. “Keith, huh? And what brings you here, Keith?”   
  
Keith opens his mouth to answer, but cuts himself off when Lance lifts his shirt to wipe at his face, revealing dark, toned muscles that Keith would literally beg to touch, to trace his fingers along each outline and bruise his skin with his teeth. Lance drops his shirt, and Keith is abruptly thrown back into reality, a reality where he, unfortunately, doesn’t get to leave bite marks on Lance’s skin. “Uhm.. I was invited…?”

 “Really?” Lance asks almost smugly, folding his hands behind his back. “By who?”

 In all honesty, Keith doesn’t even remember. He was supposed to be hooking up with somebody, he knows. He was given this address. He knows that, too. But when he’d gotten here, he’d found Hunk, and all of that had been forgotten. Looking at Lance now? He’s definitely not complaining about his shitty memory.  “Dunno. Somebody I was supposed to link up with. Why?” He asks, swirling his cup in the tiniest of circles. “Interested?”

 Lance seems taken aback by his words for a second, and Keith holds his breath because _wow,_ just how fucking _bold_ can one be, but then he’s _laughing_. He hooks his thumb between his teeth, looking Keith up and down. “Shit. I just might be.”

 Keith’s cheeks flush such a deep red color, that he knows there’s absolutely no way he can play it off on his drink or the warmth of the room. Hunk snorts, he knows that look on Lance’s face and he doesn’t want to be caught in-between _whatever the hell_ this is, because the sexual energy is almost suffocating. So he takes a step back, loses himself in the crowd, though it doesn’t make much of a difference because the way Lance and Keith are looking at each other suggest that they wouldn’t have been aware of his presence either way. But, to be perfectly fair, _not_ getting lost in Lance’s eyes has to be some type of sport, a sport Keith has not yet mastered. To be honest he doesn’t think he ever will, either. To be fair, he doesn’t think he wants to.

 Lance smirks, and the bass of the music beats on the walls, lines up with the beat of Keith’s heart and makes him feel almost wired. Lance takes a step closer in the already too crowded room, and it seems like he’s towering over him, challenging him. To what, Keith has no clue, but the sly smirk on those tan lips and the look shining in those blue eyes send shivers down Keith’s spine.

 “Well,” Keith says once he finds his voice, unable to tear his eyes away from Lance’s, “If you’re interested you should do something about it.”

 Lance’s eyes flash, and the smirk on his lips stretches until Keith can see his teeth. He jerks his head in the direction of the makeshift kitchen bar. “Drink with me?”   
  
   Ten, maybe twenty minutes later, Keith doesn’t remember, they’re sitting beside each other on the bar stools behind the kitchen counter, laughing into their cups. It was about something stupid— one of the frat brothers had tripped over his own feet or something— but it’s easy to forget something as stupid as that when you’re caught up in Lance’s laughter. It rings in his ears, a sound he doesn’t think he’d ever want to forget.

 Lance finally quiets down, and he rests his chin on his wrist, like a goddamn therapist or something. It makes Keith giggle. “So. A little birdie tells me that _you_ don’t have a date.”

 Keith snorts, rolls his eyes. “I mean, I did, but like. I don’t remember who it is. Don’t really care. And so _what_ I don’t have a date? What’s gonna happen, I get arrested for _trespassing?”_   
  
“Maybe.”    
  
 The seriousness in Lance’s voice makes him freeze, but then he’s laughing again. “I’m joking with you, baby. I’m messin’. You won’t get escorted off the premises. But, you _will_ get a whole lotta dirty looks. ‘Cause yanno. Outsider.”   
  
  “Mmhmm,” Keith hums. “Right right, because I care. I care a whole lot.”   
  
“All I’m saying is— hear me out, hear me out—… _...I_ don’t have a date.”

 “I’m listening.” 

“Aaand… _you_ don’t have a date, either. Or… not anymore.”   
  
 Lance raises his brows in a silent question, and Keith sits upright on his stool, crossing his ankles. “Are you suggesting that I be your date for the night, _Mister_ McClain?”

 “An interesting suggestion, is it not?” Lance hums, an infuriatingly sexy grin on his lips. Keith hates how much he wants to kiss him, to kiss those stupid pretty lips of his until he’s dizzy and breathless. Those lips _alone_ should be illegal. He takes a sip of his drink, pretending to think about it because God knows he wouldn’t mind being Lance’s date, even if that means ditching the person he came here for-whoever that was. Lance watches him all the while, eyes dangerously lidded, and Keith almost gets lost in the motion of his tongue swiping out over his lips.

 “Very interesting.” Keith teases lightly, eyes flickering from Lance’s lips back up to his eyes, taking a sip of his drink. Lance sets his cup on the counter, leaning forward, half of his body on the stool and the other half supported by the counter. Goosebumps prickle along Keith’s skin as he gets in close, his breath puffing softly against Keith’s ear. And he’s close enough that he can speak in a level voice, that he doesn’t have to shout over the banging of the music, “Would you like to be my date tonight, _amor_?”

 Keith’s eyes flutter closed on instinct, and he bites the inside of his lip to keep from fucking _embarrassing_ himself. He lifts his chin, lowering his own cup onto the counter as he whispers into Lance’s ear. “I would _love_ to be your date.”

 He can feel Lance smiling against his ear, and it gives him this primal sense of satisfaction, this sudden need to _please_ . The song changes, and so does the vibe in the room, quickly switching from idle dancing to something… intimate. Sensual. He watches as the women around them turn in their dates’ arms, watches them roll their hips in time with the music. It’s not _grinding_ , or at least, not like he’s used to.

 “Well, since we’re officially each-others dates now,” Lance says, leaning back, “Would you like to dance with me?” And Keith would love to say yes, really, but… he doesn’t know how to dance to this. He doesn’t even know the _language_ , and to be frank he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself. But the look in Lance’s eyes is so eager, excited, like some type of puppy, and Keith really can’t say no to him, can he?

 “Sure, but fair warning, I don’t really know how to do…” Keith motions out to the crowd of dancing bodies, “ _This_.” And just like that the eager puppy look melts from Lance’s face, replaced by some expression that Keith can’t exactly pinpoint. It twinkles in his eyes, curls at his lips, sits like an offering in his open palm, extended out to Keith as an invitation.

 “I’ll teach you.” Lance says simply. It sounds like a promise, almost; like Lance is offering far more than a simple dance tutorial. Keith stares at him, and with every second that passes, his nerves calm a little more, and a little more, until he’s smiling.

 He takes his hand. “Don’t let me fall.”   
  
 “Take a look around,” Lance laughs, taking his other hand and pulling him into the crowd, “no one in here is falling any time soon, and neither will you. C’mere.”

   Keith chokes on a gasp as Lance turns him around in his arms, pulling him back against his chest and resting his hands on his hips. “Lance—”

 “I got you,” Lance murmurs into his hair, gently swaying Keith’s hips side to side. “Arms up. Around my neck. Relax, baby.”  Keith does as he’s told, even when the pet name makes him flush, nervous energy prickling along his skin. The beat drops and Lance moves his hips in a circle motion, pressing against his ass, and a small gasp falls from Keith’s lips cause, well, he can feel… a lot of stuff he wasn’t expecting to feel. Even so, he stays loose, let’s Lance guide his hips, rolling them from side to side in time with his own movements. And his hands feel like fire, even through Keith’s clothes. Keith likes the weight of them, the sturdy _sureness_ of their placement. He likes the way Lance guides him, the way he can feel all of Lance through his jeans.

 Even so, this is something he wants to master, so once Keith gets the hang of it, realizing that this is basically fucking on the dance-floor, he takes over, moving his hips of his own volition; because if there’s one thing Keith can do its throw it back. So he does, tightens his arms around Lance’s neck, breathing almost shallowly as he rolls his hips, his whole body, to the beat until he and Lance are fluid, one moving the with the other, a push and pull effect that has Keith far more turned on than he cares to admit.

 Lance tightens his grip on Keith’s hips, laughing gently into his hair, “Seems like you know what you’re doing,” He teases lightly, and God is it just Keith’s imagination or has his voice dropped several octaves? Keith bites his lip, ticking his hips up and down when the beat gets sharp, and then rolling his ass flush against the front of Lance’s jeans when the beat smooths out again.

 “I might have more practice in this than I realized.” Keith murmurs back, his skin feeling hot, grin curling on his lips. It doesn’t last long, a surprised gasp falling from his lips as Lance grinds his hips _heavy_ against Keith’s ass, his fingers instinctively curling into the small tufts of hair at the base of Lance’s neck. Lance gives a low chuckle, hands slipping well past Keith’s hips and settling over his ass, giving a firm squeeze, “C’mon,” He murmurs, a challenge in his voice.“Show me what you can do, then.”

 Keith doesn’t know how long they’re out on the dance-floor, doesn’t know how, in all that time, Lance hasn’t popped a boner. Doesn’t know how they’re not getting dirty looks because to be honest the way they’re dancing is probably way too sensual for the music playing overhead. All Keith really knows is that he likes the way Lance smells, and he likes the feeling of the boy’s hands on him, he likes the fog settling over his mind, the heat building in his stomach, the want aching in his bones; the feeling of Lance’s lips pressed against his ear, asking him, “Do you want to get out of here?”

 Keith closes his eyes, lost in the feeling of Lance's hands on his hips and his ass, lost in the music that's dulled to a quiet thrumming in his ears, lost in the burn of his chest and the ache in his hips. He almost misses it, what Lance says, almost misses that beautiful offer, but when he catches it, he sucks in a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Yeah," he breathes, turning in Lance's arms and curling his fingers into the front of his shirt.  "Gotta do somethin' first."

He pulls him down into a kiss, and a well-deserved one at that, slipping a hand up into his hair and gently pulling at his curls. He kisses him, slow and sweet and probably not how you should kiss someone on a dance floor, but he stopped caring about what you should and should not do on a dance floor a very long time ago. He dips his other hand down over Lance's back and squeezes his ass, something that he didn't even _know_ he was feigning for until just now.

 Lance laughs into the kiss, gripping Keith's ass in turn as he pulls away. "You think you're slick."

 "I know I am. How do you think I got here?" Keith asks with a smirk, and maybe just a touch too breathless. He grabs one of Lance's wrists. _"Now_ we can get out of here."

 Lance laughs, lets Keith drag him out of the crowded living room and into the kitchen, past a few of his frat buddies that give him a _look_ as they head to the stairs, and all Lance can do is smirk in response before they disappear up the steps.

 “Which is your room?” Keith asks as they make their way down the hallway, the air between them filled with tension so thick you could reach out and grab it. Lance’s eyes rove from the tip of Keith’s head and all the way down his legs, licking his lips absentmindedly as he answers, “Down this hall and to the left.”

 When his eyes rove back up he catches Keith looking back at him, indigo eyes swirling with lust, lips powdery pink and pouty, the type of lips Lance wouldn’t mind kissing all damn night. And thank _God,_ he’s gonna get the chance to.

 Keith turns back around as they round the corner, opening the first door on the left and pushing in. Lance closes the door behind himself, the darkness of the room settling over them and somehow intensifying the tension between them. Keith doesn’t really take the time to look at anything, far too eager, far too desperate to get Lance’s hands on him. Without thinking he turns to fling his arms around Lance’s neck, pushing up on his toes to slam their lips together. And _fuck_ is it satisfying, the heavy press of Lance’s lips, the roaming of his tongue in Keith’s mouth, the way his hands slip under Keith’s shirt, hot against the skin of his back. If he wasn’t turned on before then he sure as hell is now, damn near _throbbing_ with want, aching for something, _anything_. Anything that involves Lance tossing him on the bed and fucking him senseless.

 Lance pulls away to yank Keith’s shirt off, tossing it somewhere to the ground as Keith shoves the boys letterman jacket off his shoulders, his shirt following not long after; and _fuck_ he’s built, muscled stomach and broad shoulders with delicious bronze skin Keith wants to run his hands over for _days_.

 Undressing seems like an eternity but in reality it isn’t long before their mouths find one another’s again. Lance’s hands, which are big and warm and fucking _perfect_ , slide down Keith’s back and over his ass until they’re wrapping around his thighs and hoisting him up like he weighs damn near nothing. The sudden movement makes Keith gasp against Lance’s lips and tighten his arms around the boys neck, ankles locking tight around his back.

 “Lance…” Keith moans gently against his mouth, barely even noticing the motion as Lance walks them back towards his bed in favor for focusing on the delicious feeling of those tan lips kissing and sucking down his neck. He threads his fingers through Lance’s hair, _pulling_ when his  lips find their way to his throat, shuddering out a quiet moan all over again. “Shit— oh!”   
  
  One second he’s in the air, and the next he’s flat on his back, and Lance’s lips are on him before he can collect himself again, before he can _breathe_ . And the thing is, he doesn’t even care. Lance’s hands trail down his sides like fucking fire, until he’s gripping his thighs hard enough to make him gasp into his mouth. Maybe even hard enough to bruise. Keith _prays_ it’s hard enough to bruise.

 And Keith is so wrapped up in Lance, in his lips, in the way those fingers trail back up his thighs, in the hard press of his body, that he doesn’t even think to mention a sort of important detail before Lance is unbuttoning his jeans. It almost sobers him up, and he mumbles quick, “Wait, wait,” against Lance’s lips, his own feeling thoroughly kissed and deliciously swollen.

 Lance pulls away, hands halting, looking down at Keith with lidded dark blue eyes, eyes filled with a type of fire that only succeeds in making Keith even wetter.

 Keith swallows thickly, so turned on that it takes a moment for him to gather his jumbled thoughts. But once he manages to get at least one of his brain cells working he says it quick, like ripping a bandaid off and hoping it doesn’t sting: “I’m trans.”

 Lance blinks, just stares for a second before realization and understanding cross over his face. “Oh,” He says, small smile curling at the corner of his lips, “Cool. We don’t have to do this if you aren’t comfortable. We could just chill.” And his voice is so damn sweet, so sincere, that Keith _swears_ his heart melts.

 With a dumb, dopey grin on his lips Keith’s shakes his head, “No, I want you.” He says, confident, “Now hurry up and fuck me, _Sharpshooter._ ”

 Lance doesn’t need anymore encouragement, wicked grin on his lips as he yanks Keith’s jeans and boxers down in one swift swoop, tossing them somewhere on the ground. He doesn’t kiss Keith again, instead he licks his lips, dangerous sparkle in his eyes, spreading Keith’s legs and dipping his head in-between them. Keith almost isn’t expecting it, a short gasp falling from his bruising lips as Lance drags his tongue through his folds, humming as he roves his tongue through Keith’s wetness.

 Keith keens, actually fucking keens, curling his fingers into Lance’s hair and rolling his hips up against his tongue, aching to feel him inside of him, that is… until Lance holds his hips down. Forces him to stay still as he takes his time licking Keith open. Keith whines, high in his throat as he tries again, damn near pulling at Lance’s hair and pushing his hips upwards, chasing after that sweet, sweet feeling of getting eaten out properly, like he fucking deserves but yet again, Lance holds him down. This time, he digs his fingers into his thighs until Keith is squirming, thighs twitching in an effort to move them at least a little bit.

 “Stay down.” Lance orders, voice sharp and unwavering, “Be a good boy and I’ll give you what you want.” All Keith can manage to do is whine in response, fingers curling tight in Lance’s hair as the boy wraps his lips around Keith’s clit, so damn turned on that it’s _hard_ , sucking and licking relentlessly. And Keith hasn’t been touched like this in so long, hasn’t had someone eat him out like they actually know what they’re doing, so he’s hyper sensitive to every lick, suck and vibration against his clit. It helps that Lance is just extremely good at this, humming gently as he buries his face even further into Keith’s pussy, running the flat of his tongue over his clit like he wants to taste everything Keith has to offer.

 Keith’s toes curl, thighs flexing with the need to move, or maybe it’s just him trying to subconsciously get Lance to grip his legs tighter, to make him _bruise_. He doesn’t know and frankly he can’t bring himself to care, far too focused on the delicious feeling of Lance’s mouth, focused on the pleasure searing so hot through his veins that it makes his knees weak and strips him of any filter he might’ve had coming into this.

 Keith tosses his head back to the pillows, mouth agape, loud, uncontrolled moans passing by his lips, all high pitched and whiny because Lance is slipping two of his fingers in and _curling_ them. And Keith is so damn wet, a mix of himself and Lance’s saliva, that there’s barely any resistance against those fingers. Really, if Lance is this good with his mouth and hands then Keith must be in for some wild shit later on because he already feels so out of control. He already feels so _used_ , his legs spread wide for Lance’s personal enjoyment, every moan, every gasp, every drawn out cry of his name, is all for Lance.

 Now don't get him wrong; it’s not like Keith’s reactions are prompted or done out of some strange need to make Lance feel better about his performance, it’s because Lance is just that _good_ . It’s because Keith genuinely can’t fucking control himself, it’s because those fingers are gripping so deliciously tight at his thighs, it’s because of the sharp lingering pain, it’s because of the tongue that flicks and rolls against Keith's clit like a wave. It’s because of so many things, Lance’s fingers scissoring him open _just right_ , the wet slurp of his mouth against Keith's cunt, the eagerness in his movements. It’s all of that, and of course more that Keith can’t even begin to describe, that makes Keith cry out and moan Lance’s name like a symphony made to be performed in some theater, like a song just for him.

 “M’gonna cum!” Keith gasps, thighs quivering under Lance’s touch, toes curling tight, skin feeling hot to the touch. Lance merely hums in response, buries his face further in Keith’s sopping wet pussy, licking, sucking, nipping. He slips a third finger past Keith’s entrance, stretching him open even wider and curling his fingers to hit that spot _just right_ , just enough that Keith’s entire body starts shaking, that Keith’s eyes are watering, that Keith’s entire mind goes blank as he comes undone with a loud cry of Lance’s name.

 He cums so hard that the pounding of the music against the walls is lost to the pounding of his own heart, and he gushes all over Lance’s mouth and fingers; absolutely lost in the feeling. His eyes roll back in his head as he arches his back off of the sheets he can't stop clawing at, his breath caught in his throat as he attempts to ride it out.

 And Lance is still going.

 “Please—” he chokes out, squirming, or trying to squirm away from Lance, from his fingers and his tongue. “I can't, I _can't—_ ”

 “You can give me one more, Baby,” Lance hums, grazing his teeth against Keith's swollen clit and biting down on his lip when he _keens,_ absolutely _drowning_ in the beautiful noises that fall from Keith's lips. “Just one. Gimme one more and I'll give you what you need, I promise you.”

 Keith doesn't even get a chance to respond before Lance is licking him open again, and it's all he can do not to start spewing out a garbled mess of korean and english because holy _fuck,_ he can't tell if it's better or _worse._ He doesn’t care which it is, though, because Lance is removing his fingers to slip his tongue into Keith fucked-open hole and Keith is _gone_. He’s already sensitive from his first orgasm, so the new stimulus of Lance’s tongue curling and flicking  inside of him gets him squirming, already so fucked out that he can only whine and gasp in a breath of air every few seconds; so fucked out that his filter has completely deteriorated, and he babbles.

 “ _Lance_ ,” Keith moans, voice cracking, intense pleasure seeming to travel in waves across his muscles, “Fuck, Daddy, _please_ m’gonna cum, _please_ make me cum-“ And he’s begging, begging for everything Lance might be able to give him. He doesn’t know what that is considering Lance has already got his fingers rubbing against Keith's clit and his tongue buried in the boys cunt, hell, Keith can’t even really remember what he _said_ , but he just has to have it all.

 He doesn’t know what it is until Lance does it, a sharp pinprick of pain, fingernails digging into his skin as Lance pulls a quivering leg over his shoulder. Keith cries out, basking in the sharp spike of pain that contrast the bone melting pleasure so wonderfully, bucking his hips against Lance’s mouth.

 Lance’s grip on his thigh tightens, a warning, and it sends Keith spiraling, feeling like he’s on cloud nine as he sobs through his second orgasm. Though, he’s not sure if it’s his second orgasm or if the first one never really ended. He heaves for air, the edges of his vision whiting out, until he feels a hand on his cheek. Just barely, that is. “Oh shit…...oh _fuck_ ,” he cries, but then Lance is slipping his thumb into his mouth, and it’s all forgotten. _“Hmmm…”_

 “What was it you said earlier, _amor_?” It’s Lance’s voice, and when Keith focuses his vision it’s Lance hovering over him, licking Keith’s wetness from his lips, eyes dangerously dark, smirk painting his lips. Keith doesn’t know when he moved but he isn’t complaining, swirling his tongue around Lance’s thumb, eyes half lidded and clouded over with lust.

 “What was it you called me?” Lance continues, his free hand keeping Keith’s legs spread open, keeping him on display.

Keith tries, he really tries, but he can't remember. He wraps his fingers around Lance's wrist, leaving little kitten licks on his thumb, until Lance has got a grip on his jaw, that same thumb that'd just been rubbing so so sweetly on his tongue hooked over his teeth. “I want an answer.”

  “I— I don't—” Keith pants, _trying_ to remember. Lance sucks his teeth, shaking his head in disappointment.

 “That's too bad. I'm a little disappointed that you can't seem to remember……..” He sighs, running his thumb over Keith's lips, and Keith _whimpers,_ wracking his brain for _anything_ he could've said that would make Lance happy, but there's _nothing,_ and Lance's thumb leaves his lips and _oh,_ he can't just _leave him like this—_ “Daddy!”  

 Lance stops. Leans in close, until Keith is drowning in those gorgeous blue eyes all over again. Curls his fingers under his chin.  “What was that?”

 Keith’s cheeks color an even darker shade of red, slight embarrassment seeping into his tone as he answers. “Daddy.” He breathes out, voice barely above a whisper, unable to tear his eyes away from Lance’s. And Lance’s eyes are so damn intense, like they’re peering into Keith’s soul, burning hot with arousal, dark, demanding, dominant. Like a hunter that knows he has caught his prey and is basking in his victory.

 “Better,” Lance rumbles, voice thick and husky, heavy with a tone Keith can only associated with sex. Keith squirms beneath him, yearning for the feeling of Lance’s hands on his skin, aching to be filled. And, judging from the impressive length of the hard outline through Lance’s pants, he will be.

 He gets needy. Desperate. Grabbing at Lance’s arms, at his neck, his hair, he whines, _begs_ , even. And he _never_ begs. “Please fuck me, Lance,” he breathes, curling his fingers at the little hairs on the base of Lance’s neck, “please, I need it, I need it I need it—”   
  
 He breaks off into a gasp when Lance wraps his fingers around his throat, not hard enough to cut all of his air off but… Definitely enough to get a reaction. “What was that, Baby?”

 Keith doesn’t dare pull at his wrist. He forces a breath, whining when Lance only presses harder. “Lance—”   
  
“Who?”  

 Oh fuck, Lance was gonna kill him. If not literally, then figuratively, and by figuratively Keith means by drowning in his own fucking slick. “ _Please_ , Daddy,” he wheezes out, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “I’ll be good, I swear I’ll be good, I’ll be _so so_ good just please, please please please _please—_ ”

 “Please what?” Lance damn near purrs into his ear. Keith’s vision starts to fade around the edges. He almost doesn’t mind it.

 

    _“Fuck me.”_

 

So, Lance does. Or, well, gets ready to. He draws his hand away from Keith’s throat, and even as Keith sucks in a much needed breath of air his eyes travel to where Lance is unbuttoning his jeans. The fabric slides down his hips, and when Lance hooks his thumb over both the band of the jeans and the band of his boxers, pulling them down with a few swift tugs, Keith’s breath catches in his throat.

 There’s a difference between big and Lance. Big is slightly above average with a decent amount of girth, big is something you can look at and know it’s one hundred percent gonna get the job done, maybe you’ll even be fucked out at the end if the person who has it knows how to use it. But Lance, Lance is far _far_ more impressive. ‘Big’ isn’t really sufficient enough to describe him, because God, just looking at it Keith already knows he’s going to get fucking ruined. And _fuck_ does it make his mouth water.

 He’s long and thick, curving just slightly to the left, the head a slightly lighter tan color than the shaft, and it’s almost _pretty._ Like, porn star dick pretty. Like, if Keith weren’t aching right now, he’d gladly get down on his knees and choke on it type of pretty. Hell, he still might if he’s being honest, he would _not_ be mad about that.

 “Oh my god…” Keith breaths, face coloring pink because he hadn’t meant to say that _outloud_ but it is what it is. Lance shoves his pants off the rest of the way before looking at Keith with concern shining his eyes, “Are you okay?” He asks, and his voice is so weirdly innocent, “Is something wrong?” And then it hits Keith that the idiot doesn’t fucking _know_ he has a damn horse dick. It’s strangely endearing, if not borderline frustrating. Almost _offensive_ , really, because how the hell does someone go around thinking that _monster_ is average? Or, the worst yet, not even _notice_.

 “Are you aware that you have the dick that porn stars dream of?”

  Lance freezes. Stares at him. “What?”

 Keith props himself up on his elbows, staring back at him. At this rate, Lance probably doesn’t even know what the hell he even means by that. “You don’t know what I mean? At all?”

 

Lance shrugs. “Nah, never got into that.” Of course he didn’t. “Never really appealed to me or anything.” Of _course_ it didn’t. “Besides,” he hums, crawling forward and pushing Keith flat on his back again. “Who the fuck needs any of that when you’ve got the real thing?”

 

_Oh. Right._

 

“Me?” Keith offers with a hushed, _cracking_ voice. Now that Lance is hovering over him, staring down at him with those mesmerizing eyes, he can’t seem to. You know. Talk. “I need that a lot.”  

 

  “Not anymore, you don’t,” Lance hums, almost casually pulling one of Keith’s legs over his shoulder,  hooking his hand behind the knee of Keith’s other leg and spreading him open. “Besides,” Lance continues, Keith’s breath catching in his throat as the boy slowly pushes forward, the head of his cock sinking into Keith’s wetness, “We can make our own movie, if you want,” Then Keith moans, long and breathy, fingers curling tight into the sheets as Lance sinks in even deeper, and even then he’s only just barely halfway in.

 

Lance smirks, “You can be the main character.” And he sinks in deeper and deeper until he’s fully sheathed and Keith is left with his mouth open like a gaping fish, unable to focus on anything but the beautiful sting of pain and the wonderful, wonderful stretch, accompanied with the overwhelming feeling of being stuffed full.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keith breathes, licking his lips, clenching tight around Lance’s cock, fingers digging into the sheets.  And honestly he’s not… opposed to ‘making a movie’. “Sounds— oh _fuck_ — s-sounds…”

 

  No, he’s not opposed to the idea of making a movie with Lance. Just like he’s not opposed to the way Lance is rolling his hips into him, or the way his pussy automatically clenches around him with every movement. He’s especially not opposed to it because Lance’s dick is making all competent thoughts leave his mind but if he focuses _really_ hard then yeah, he definitely wouldn’t mind. Would like it, really.  

 

 Lance talks into his ear, low and breathy. “Stay with me, Keith,” he murmurs, and Keith _swears_ he can _hear_ the little smirk on his lips. Keith manages to laugh, hooking his arms up and over Lance's shoulders.

 

 “I'm here, I'm here.”

 

Lance smiles down at him, and then he's snapping his hips forward, sending Keith's body jerking up towards the front of the bed and tearing a moan from his throat. “Good.”

 

“ _Fuck..”_ Keith gasps, fingernails instinctively digging into Lance’s shoulders, face and chest flushed red.

 

“You’d look so good on camera,” Lance murmurs, sliding out slow enough for Keith to feel just how widely he stretched, “Everyone would want to watch you, everyone would want to _have_ you.” And then he snaps his hips forward, drilling hard into Keith’s pussy, hard enough to get the slap of their skin ringing out around the room, hard enough to make Keith cry out. He starts building a steady pace, has Keith moaning loud every time he fucking _moves_ , pussy clenching wetly; so wet that they can _hear_ every time Lance fucks into him. It’s a wet smack that’s loud enough to make Keith kinda embarrassed but turned on at the same time.

 

Lance’s eyes travel over Keith’s face, down his flushed chest and down even further, humming lightly as he watches himself fuck into Keith’s cunt, “You’re so pretty, baby,” He purrs, licking his lips as his eyes flicker back up to lock with Keith’s, snapping his hips forward in a delicious rhythm that’s got Keith’s toes curling and his voice damn near singing.

 

“If only you could see yourself,” Lance murmurs, “All wet, stretched open so pretty around my dick.” Lance hums, thrusting his hips just a little faster. Keith squirms, gasping sweetly into the air, almost overwhelmed as pleasure crashes down on him over and over again like a damn tidal wave. It’s so good that his thighs tremble, his nails raking over Lance’s shoulders as he’s fucked senseless. Lance’s thrust are hard and relentless, the headboard banging into the back wall with every snap of his hips, and all Keith can do is take it, squeezing his eyes shut and clinging onto Lance like a lifeline as he struggles to stay conscious.

 

  “No no no,” Lance groans, leaning in close so he can reach deeper into Keith’s throbbing pussy, staring down at him, his own lips parted with ecstasy, “Lemme see those pretty eyes, Baby. I wanna see all of you, all fucked out and gorgeous for me. I wanna see those eyes.”

 

Keith struggles, but he manages to pry his eyes open, indigo orbs clouded over with lust, unable to help the roll of his hips down onto Lance’s cock, keeping rhythm with the harsh, damn near bruising pace Lance has set.

 

“ _Yes,”_ Keith moans out, loud and shameless, the bang of the headboard drowning out the heavy beating of the music—or has the music stopped? Keith doesn’t know, doesn’t care, really, he’s far too wrapped up in all of this.

 

“ _Yes Yes,_ fuck, _Lance._ ” He moans, voice all high pitched and needy, pussy clenching tight around Lance’s cock as he’s _ruined_ . Ruined because all Lance has to do his aim just slightly to the left and then he’s hitting Keith’s g-spot head on, making Keith arch his back off the bed and moan out a very desperate, “Yes! Lance, fuck, right there _please-_ “. And then trail off into a series of uncontrolled cries of pleasure as Lance slams into that spot over and over again.

 

Lance breathes heavily himself, moaning deep and low in his chest as Keith clenches impossibly tight around him. And God, Keith is so warm, so tight, so _wet_ , it drives Lance insane. Even more crazy is the way the Keith’s walls flutter around his cock like they’re trying to draw him in deep and never let him go. Even crazier is the way Keith’s pussy damn near gushes around his cock, creaming all over the shaft and leaving such a lovely mess on their skin and sheets. Possibly the sweetest out of all of that, however, is the fucked out cry of Keith’s voice.

 

“Please please, _please_ , Daddy, fuck! Please Daddy, please g-give it to me, pleaseplease _pleaseplease_ _please_!-“ Keith begs, voice whiny and needy, desperate as Lance drills him into the bed, the frame creaking and groaning under their weight. To be honest, Keith doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, but it doesn’t matter because Lance gives him everything he could ever need or want anyways. He arches his back off of the sheets with a sob, gasping when Lance only seems to reach in _deeper_ — he didn't even know that was possible at this point but hey— and his eyes roll back in his head, a delirious grin plastered on his face. _“Yesss….”_

 

 Lance pants into the space between them, in complete _awe_ of the boy under him, and he realizes that _he has to have this on camera_. His hips stutter a little, and Keith chirps in pleasure as he reaches behind him,fumbling for his phone in his back pocket. Once he's got it in his hand, he switches to his camera app and hits record. And holy shit, he was right. Keith's fucked-out-of-his-mind face looks even better on camera. “You look so pretty, Baby. So pretty for me.”

 

 Keith's eyes flutter closed at the praise, breathy little moans and whimpers falling from his lips with every smack of Lance's hips, completely lost to the feeling. _“Please,”_ he begs, voice damn near a whisper, “ I want it, I want it I want it _please_ lemme have it—!”

 

  Lance's lips curve up into a smirk. “Tell me what you need, _amor,”_ he murmurs, running his free hand over Keith's thigh and _squeezing._ “You want me to come inside of you?” Keith clenches around his cock _hard_  after that. “Maybe all over that pretty little face of yours?” Holy shit, the man was practically seizing now. “Down your throat? I bet you'd love that, wouldn't you? Pretty thing like you, choking on my dick, swallowing me up. God, you'd look so beautiful.”

 

And Keith doesn’t know if it’s his imagination or if it’s the fact that he’s about to cum, but it almost seems like Lance doubles his pace, hitting every spot inside of Keith just right. He’s so close, so fucking close, pleasure seeming to race and zap across his skin like electricity, building in his stomach like a dam getting ready to overflow. The filthy words that fall so eloquently from Lance’s lips add to that, make Keith feel like he belongs to Lance or some shit like that, makes Keith want to put on a good show for not only Lance but the camera that’s recording him. He just needs something more, _something_ , he’s not sure what it is because he already feels so fucking overwhelmed, thighs shaking uncontrollably, filling the room with his moans. But then Lance leans forwards, bends Keith in a way that he didn’t even know he _could_ , reaching in impossibly deep and wrapping those tan fingers around Keith’s throat and _squeezing._

 

Something inside of Keith explodes, and he’s seeing _galaxies_ , eyes wide and jaw dropped as he stares up at Lance with a silent scream. He goes limp, swallowing against Lance’s fingers, opening and closing his mouth like he’s trying to speak as wave after fucking wave of pleasure crashes over him, overwhelms him, _drowns_ him. Lance is talking to him, Keith knows from the moving of his lips, but Keith can’t hear him, can barely even see him with the way bright white dots start to cross his vision. He doesn’t mind it, he realizes. He could probably pass out right now and he’d go out thanking Lance for it all. His body jerks, hot liquid pleasure coursing through his veins, squirting all over Lance’s cock, walls of his cunt fluttering and contracting wildly. And when he finally finds his voice again he’s fucking _screaming_ , pussy drenching the sheets and their skin, aiding in the obscene sound of their skin slapping together with every one of Lance’s thrust.

 

When the most intense feelings finally pass, he gasps for air, dragging oxygen into his lungs as Lance’s grip loosens around his throat. He’s got tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, and he hadn’t realized it but his fingernails dug so hard into Lance’s skin that there’s blood.

 

“ _Daddy…_ ” Keith whines out, voice fucked out and _broken_ , clinging onto Lance for dear life because the boy hasn’t slowed his pace or stopped once.

 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, _amor_ ,” Lance breathes, his voice sounding strained, “So pretty for me, so pretty for everyone that’s gonna see this. Would you like that?” Lance asks, adjusting the camera, “Would you like people to see how much of a whore you are for me?”

 

Keith stutters out a raspy, “Yes, yes _please_.” He gives a gasp of protest as he feels Lance slide all the way out of him, but it’s quickly cut off by Lance’s lips. The kiss is sloppy and wet and perfect, and really, it’s more so them panting against each others lips than anything. Lance pulls away, glint in his eyes as he stares down at Keith.

 

“Let’s make sure they know you’re mine.” And then he’s flipping Keith over into his stomach, grabbing his hips and pulling the boys ass up in the air. Keith whines, almost pitifully, wiggling his hips and pushing his ass back in hopes of something, _anything_ , anything to make him feel full again. He can feel Lance’s hand on his waist, holding him still, and he lets out a weak little moan when he feels him slip back into his abused pussy. “Daddy please…”   
  
 “Just a little longer, baby,” Lance promises, rocking Keith’s hips back against him. Keith gets the message pretty quickly, curling his fingers into the sheets under him as he fucks himself back on Lance’s cock, gasping with every smack that rings in the room. He bites his lip when Lance moans from behind him, and it spurs him on, makes him arch his back and roll his hips even harder. Lance starts praising him, telling him just how good he’s being, and he’s _living_ for it. “There you go, Baby, just like that, _just like that—”_  

 

 He breaks off into a groan, one Keith _swears_ he can feel through his entire body, and pulls out of him again. Seconds later, Keith can feel thick, hot liquid shooting out onto his back, and he dips his head to hide a blush that Lance already couldn't see. “ _Fuck,_ ” Lance sighs, a hand gripping his ass. Keith rocks his hips side to side, turning to look back at Lance with half-lidded eyes. “Thank you, Daddy.”

 

Lance licks his lips, squeezing Keith’s ass before giving it a light smack, “Anything for you, baby.” He murmurs, and then he stops recording, tossing his phone onto the bed.

 

Keith’s eyes are heavy, body feeling boneless, Lance’s hands on his hips are the only things keeping him from collapsing. The boy leans over to pull his shirt off of the floor, wiping it along Keith’s back to clean up the mess he’d made, and Keith doesn’t know why but he hums in mild protest. Maybe because he likes the idea of Lance claiming him, he doesn’t know, and he’s far too tired to work it out either.

 

“Do you want to stay the night?” Lance asks, his voice changed from demanding and firm to soft and sweet in an instant. Keith mutely nods his head, collapsing onto the bed once Lance lets him go, full body twitches racking his muscles every few moments as an aftermath of his orgasm. Lance slides in next to him, pulling the duvet over their naked bodies as Keith curls up against him, face pressed into the boys neck, closing his eyes and basking in his warmth. Nothing else is said, nothing else really _needs_ to be said. They sit in a content silence, and eventually Keith drifts off with the soothing feeling of Lance’s fingers combing through his hair.

 

—

 

 He wakes up to light filtering in through the window curtain— what a cliche way to wake up, he tells himself— and Lance’s arms wrapped around him, loose, but still pretty tight for sleeping frat boy standards.

 

Holy shit. He just fucked a frat boy. Well, not _just_ but still. And more like the _frat boy_ fucked _him_ but _still_. Is that better or worse? He has no idea, and frankly, doesn’t have the brain power to question it right now.

 

  Instead, he takes this opportunity to examine his surroundings. He looks around the room, taking his time looking at  literally…. Everything that he hadn’t as of last night. The room looks fairly homey; very beach and music oriented, but then again, no one mixes beach and history together so he’s not very surprised. The shark plushie sticking out of his closet is a cute touch, though. He spots his boxers, right on Lance’s chair. They must’ve dislodged themselves from his jeans. _Classy_.

 

  “This is real,” he whispers to himself, and for a split second he questions just how asleep Lance really is, because his arms are suddenly tightening around him. Okay. So a _clingy_ frat boy. Could be hung over. Why is this something he’s debating right now?  

 

  He shifts a little and sits up, partially because he really needs to get out of the line of sunlight that’s assaulting his eyes right now, and partially because a part of him is telling him he really needs to get out of there, like, right now, as in right fucking now before _Pretty Boy Lance over here_ wakes up— “Where you goin’?”

 

  Of course. So Lance wasn’t asleep. Little asshole. “Nowhere,” he croaks out, clearing his throat as he does. “I’m not going anywhere. Just um. Wanted to see what I missed, since we were busy and all.”

 

  Lance laughs into his pillow, and Keith can’t help but smile at him. Asshole or no, Lance is very cute when he laughs. Or just, period. Excuse me, _gay?_ Stop it. “It’s not funny,” he mutters with a pout, gently pushing Lance by the shoulder. “You have a nice room.”   
  
10/10 small talk, Keith. Fantastic. I see why people are always drooling all over you, buddy. “Sorry, that sounds weird, but—”   
  
 “Thanks.” Lance interrupts. “Did it myself. Painting the ceiling was an experience but hey, it worked out.”   
  
Keith raises a brow and looks up at the ceiling. There’s not an entire mural there, but he can see different planets and what appears to be stars up there, each labeled with a name. “...Actual people? The names, I mean. Are they people you know?”   
  
 “I don’t tend to paint for people I don’t know, considering I’m shit at it,” Lance snorts, turning his head to look up with Keith. “But yeah. Family, friends, my bank accountant, Janice.”   
  
 “....You put Janice up there?”

 

“No, but I should. She makes me cookies.” Lance says with a firm nod of his head, sitting up next to Keith. He looks… Like an accurate description of how Keith feels. Messy hair, pillow imprint on his cheek, eyes still half-lidded with interrupted sleep. Typical woke-up-next-to-a-stranger-with-a-hangover look.

 

  Except Lance doesn’t feel like a stranger. But those are definitely lunchtime thoughts. “I need pants.”   
  
“You have pants.” Lance says dumbly. Keith scowls.   
  
  “No. Those are wet at best. Maybe even doing that thing where it gets all _crusty.”_   
  
“Don’t call your pants crusty.”   
  
 “Whatever you wanna call it, asswipe. I need _pants_.”

 

Lance sighs a little through his nose. “Okay,” he mutters, sliding out of his bed and crossing the room to get to his closet. Which gives Keith an ample amount of time to stare at his ass. Not gonna lie, he’s kind of mad he only grabbed up on it _once_. “Pfft. Your ass jiggles when it moves.”

 

“Your ass jiggled a lot last night.” Lance snarks back, and Keith is momentarily stunned, face quickly coloring red. Keith frowns, (it definitely was NOT a pout) just barely having enough time to catch the pants Lance launches at his face.

 

“I think I even caught it on camera,” he continues, wearing a shit eating grin that simultaneously makes Keith want to punch his lights out and lay down for round two. He decides to settle for unintelligible mumbling instead, jerking his chin out towards his boxers. “Need boxers too.”   
  
 “You _have_ them.”   
  
“We’re not doing this again.”

 

“Are you telling me,” Lance starts slowly, and Keith can _hear_ the strain in his voice, the clear indicator that he’s holding back laughter, “You need new boxers because you got _too wet_ last night?”

 

  “Why the fuck do you think I need new pants?” Keith asks, almost like Lance was supposed to just _know_ (because he does, clearly, and just likes seeing Keith all flustered).

 

“I need you to say it or else no boxers,” And there’s a big. Dumbass face-splitting grin on his stupid pretty face, “Say exactly why, outloud and no cheating.”

 

 Keith narrows his eyes at The Actual Devil Child standing in front of him right now. And he’s tempted to just say ‘no’ and fuck the fuck off, except… he’s not a heathen. Walking around in jeans and no boxers? Extremely heathenish. He huffs a little, blowing a stray strand of hair from over his eye. “I need new boxers because I got _too_ _wet_ last night. I soaked my boxers. And my jeans. And so I need new ones. Happy?”

 

Keith doesn’t know what he was expecting, maybe a cocky grin or something, but next thing he knows Lance is fucking _howling_ with laughter. Ear splitting, stupidly _infuriatingly_ cute laughter, still stark ass naked, clutching his stomach for dear, dear life. It shouldn’t even be that _funny_ , but the way Keith is frowning (definitely not pouting, no sir, not he) mixed with the amount of tiredness in his voice? _Does_ things to him.

 

 Keith’s face reddens, and he’s not sure whether it’s because he’s blushing or borderline irritated. Maybe it's both. A nice little mix. “Hilarious. Can I have those boxers now??”

 

Lance, still chuckling to himself, finally does as he’s asked. He snags a pair of clean boxers from his drawer, slipping on a pair himself because while swinging in the wind is nice he kind of has company, (and while said company has already seen his junk it’s really the principal of things) and tosses them at Keith.

 

 Keith snatches the boxers out of the air, shimmying forward on the bed so he can slip them on over his legs. Briefly, he wonders if these are even really clean— because you know, why would they be right— but then again, this is Lance he’s dealing with, so he’s pretty sure he’s good. Once that’s over, he slips the jeans on. Or, more accurate, is almost swallowed by the jeans. “Hey, quick question. What the hell size jeans do you wear?”   


“The normal size??” Lance says, question in his voice. And really, Keith would like to bang his head into a wall because what does that even _mean_? Does the idiot really not know what fucking size jeans he wears? What does he do, just go to the store and try everything on until something fits?

 

“You know what, nevermind.”

 

 With a...Decent amount of folding and tucking and rearranging the entire acre of denim he’s working with, Keith manages to make them look… maybe a _little_ baggy on him.

 

“You look like you’re on your way to your first day at Kindergarten,” Lance blurts out.

 

Okay. Maybe _more_ than a little baggy. Silence follows after that, not uncomfortable or anything, more like the co-existing type of silence. Keith scrambles around the room in search for his shirt, the only article of clothing he has that wasn’t ruined last night, and Lance leans against his dresser, watching with mild interest in his eyes.

 

When Keith finds it, letting out an “A ha!” In victory, Lance finally says what was on his mind.

 

“So…” He starts, and his voice is slightly nervous, “I have a video of your ass on my phone, I think it’s only fitting if I had your number to go along with it.”

 

Keith freezes mid-dress, and then he’s pulling the bottom half of his shirt over his middle with a little nod. He’s a little tempted— more than a little tempted, actually— to give Lance some sort of runaround as to why he totally shouldn’t have access to his number, but he’s right. It’s only common knowledge that if your ass is recorded on someone else’s phone, your number has gotta come with it. In addition to the fact that Lance looks about ten times cuter when he’s nervous, and Keith is a very weak gay.

   “Sure,” he says, holding his hand out. “Gimme your phone.”

 

Lance’s face lights up and Keith swears to _God_ he’s like a golden retriever or something, all he needs is a wagging tail. It’s… very very cute. He walks over to the bed, snagging his phone from the sheets and hands it to Keith after typing in the passcode.

 

The first thing that Keith sees is the video in question, and his entire face colors red at the image of his blissed out face. He clicks out and away from that shit, fumbling to find Lance’s contact app. It’s proving to be easier said than done, it seems. “Why the fuck do you have so many games on your phone—”   
  
 Lance swipes the phone from him, and in three easy seconds, hands it back. “Here. And I get bored easily.”

 

  “Oh. Fair.” Keith mutters. He types his phone number in, followed by his name, and hits the save button. There. Dramatic milestone moment over. “Here you go. You can like, call it if you want—”   
  
 “Yeah, that’s kind of the plan.”

 

“... To make sure it’s real, dumbass.” Keith deadpans. “Don’t make me give you a wrong number.”

 

 Lance laughs and takes his phone back from him, quietly thanking him for giving him his number. For a second, Keith wonders why he has yet to put on a shirt, but then again, he lives here, so. “...I should probably go. I kinda don’t go to school here and stuff—”   


 “Clearly.”   
  
“Shut up.” Keith huffs, but Lance is laughing again, so his annoyance doesn’t last very long. And because he’s… maybe a complete sucker for stupid shit, like having the door held open for him and all of that chivalrous stuff that died with Freddie Mercury, he asks, “Walk me out?”

 

Lance grins, and it’s different from all the others Keith has seen, soft and almost...fond?

 

“Sure thing, just let me grab some pants .” He says easily, turning to snag a pair of grey sweats out of his drawer. He pulls them on and really, Keith would be a heathen if he didn’t notice how they hang deliciously low on his hips.

 

 Fucking Lance. He just had to pull out grey sweatpants. Of all the pants in the world, he pulled out low-riding, grey fucking sweatpants. No, Keith will not be thirsty. Not noticeably, at least. He turns his gaze up to see Lance already staring at him, a cocky little smirk plastered on his lips. _Like what you see?_  
  
He doesn’t say it out loud. Keith almost wishes he had. “Alright, c’mon. Don’t want you getting in trouble or anything.”

 

 Keith walks out of the room, but before he can go very far Lance is catching his hand,twining their fingers together and tugging Keith along as they make their way down the hallway. Keith isn’t blushing over holding hands, he’s much more mature than that, thank you very much. It is… nice, though. Lance seems to run abnormally warm and it’s soothing, radiating heat into Keith’s hand and traveling up his arm to the rest of his body, giving him goosebumps. It helps that Lance’s hands are huge, and Keith hands aren’t small, but Lance’s are big enough to kind of dwarf his.

 

   He’d spend more time marveling at how their hands kind of fit together, except the activity downstairs has ceased. As in, it’s almost scarily quiet. As in, seconds ago Keith could hear Lance’s frat brothers loud as all hell in the staircase, and now it sounds like everyone was snatched from the house and transported somewhere very, very far away. Lance pulls him down to the very bottom of the stairs, and a good fifteen pairs of eyes (that’s a lot of fucking eyes) are already trained on them. It looks like they were eating, but had stopped mid-movement just to stare. _Literally_. One of the frat boys has his spoon in the air, milk dripping down into his bowl as he blinks owlishly at the two.

 

 Ryan speaks— and moves— first. “Wow,” he mumbles, stirring his cereal up. “Didn’t think I’d ever think about making a trip to Walmart at two in the morning to buy noise cancelling headphones.”

 

Lance’s face flushes but he plays it off, scoffing, “You could’ve used the ones I bought last time when you had James over. What have I told you about spending money on unnecessary things?”

 

 Ryan opens his mouth to retaliate, but then Hunk is dramatically standing up in place with “You had that skinny ass white boy here??? In _my_ house???”

 

  The room explodes into noise, a mix of laughter and the trademark _oooooaahhh_ . Ryan blows his whistle, and they all fall silent. For the most part. He can’t hide the stupid smile on his face himself. “You can’t blame me. He gives good head.”   
  
 “I’m getting you out of here before this house suddenly falls into Hell,” Lance murmurs in Keith’s ear, struggling not to laugh as his fellow frat brothers proceed to rag on Kinkade.

 

They take a step towards the door, and just when Lance thinks they’re gonna get away with it there are hoots and hollers from the kitchen, “Where ya goin’ _Daddy_?!” The boys call out teasingly, and honestly Keith wants to be mad, he does, but he can’t find it in him.

 

  “Going to fuck your _mom,_ ” Lance shoots back, and the noise only seems to intensify, followed by an almost offended sounding “Fuck you!”  

 

    Lance flips what he thinks is Adonis off, even though he can’t see, and turns back to Keith. “Okay. _Now_ you’re in the clear. I think.”   
  
The sound of something crashing into the wall behind them really makes him rethink this _thinking_ sitch. “Probably not, but I recommend you leave in the next five seconds.”

 

And really, Keith can’t help but laugh as they hurry to the door. Lance opens it for him and he steps out onto the porch, turning to lock eyes with the boy as he leans against the door frame.

 

“I’ll call you?” Lance asks, and a grin twitches at Keith’s lips.

 

“Okay.” He agrees easily. Lance looks over his shoulder, as if making sure the coast is clear, before turning back around and tugging Keith forward by the front of his shirt. He leans down and presses a quick kiss to the boy’s lips, lingering slightly before pulling away with a crooked grin.

 

“Get home safe.”

 

  “Don’t get kidnapped!!” someone shouts from the kitchen. Keith raises a brow in a silent question, and Lance only widens his eyes as if he’s telling him to _get a damn move on_ , already. Keith snorts and turns on his heels, walking down the front stairs and heading back to his own apartment.

 

—

 

 When he gets there, before he’s even all the way _inside_ , he’s greeted— more like acknowledged-- by his dear roommate and almost-kind-of-on-the-fence friend, James Griffin.

 

 “Where were you last night?” He asks from the floor, moving his cup of orange juice away from him. Like Keith actually cares about his orange juice. “I called you twice. I stayed up until like four in the morning thinking you’d be dead until I realized I didn’t care. What happened to your hair? Those aren’t the pants you left with. Keith, what the fuck, what did you _do?_ ” James narrows his eyes, “ _Who_ did you do?”

 

  Keith stares at him, semi-scowls at his orange juice, and finally closes the door behind him. “I went to a party at Morehouse—”

 

   ”Morehouse? Like, Morehouse the college??” James interrupts, voice laced with alarm. Keith leans back, a little more than afraid he’s going to have to possibly beat the shit out of his almost-kind-of-on-the-fence friend if he says anything stupid.

 

 “Nah. The orphanage.”

 

“What?” James asks, but then he’s shaking his head and pressing forward. “Stop fucking around! So you went to the party. Then? Who did you fuck? Give me details, you know I don’t go anywhere. ”

 

Keith barks out a laugh as he pulls his shoes off. One thing that he does like about James? He tends to get straight to the point. “A stepper, actually.”   
  
 “Yeah, Morehouse has a lot of those—”   
  
“Lance McClain. Stepper at uhm.. What’s it called? Alpha phi Alpha?”  

 

  Keith almost misses the sound of choking, so caught up in taking his shoes up and talking that he just barely catches his almost friend doubled over, coughing up orange juice with his face flushed a bright red. “Uh?? Are you okay???”

 

“I’m _fine!_ ” James chokes out. “Fucking— fuckin’ _fine_ . Peachy. Fantastic! _Stay away from Morehouse_ .”   


And then it hits Keith. It’s almost like a fucking flashback, Lance’s words ringing in his head. “ _You could’ve used the ones I bought last time when you had James over.…”_  A devious, shit eating grin curls at the corner of Keith’s lips. Who would’ve thought his uptight, stick up his ass roommate was gay. Or bi, Keith doesn’t want to assume.

 

“Don’t worry, James,” He hums, because he’s a little shit, “Ryan is cute but not my type.”

 

 James stares at him, gaping like a fish out of water, and Keith swears he might throw that stupid glass of orange juice at him, until he lets out a very deep, very tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “...You cannot tell anyone.”   
  
“Mhm.”   


“Especially Nadia.”   


“Mmmhm.”   


“She’d never let me hear the end of it, and then she’d probably go and tell the entire soccer team on me and then Ramirez will tell his girlfriend and you _know_ how much _she_ talks and then the entire _school_ will know and—”   


“ _Mmmmmmmmmmhm_.”

  
 James drops his hand. “You don’t care, do you?”   
  
“No. No, not really.” Keith shrugs, and he’s still grinning, because wow, really, who would’ve _thought_. “There’s no shame in liking dudes, James.” He says. “Dick is nice, ya know? No shame in it, but you do you. I won’t tell anyone.”

 

  “It’s not— I’m— I’m not ashamed of it,” James stammers, fumbling with his cup, “I just. I mean, I have a reputation to uphold, here, at our school and he’s a whistler—”   
  
“Whistleblower.”   
  
 “Yeah, that, a whistleblower and that’s really important to him and I don’t want him to get screwed over ‘cause he’s dating— ‘cause he’s messing around with me, and—”

 

  “Shut it,” Keith cuts him off, plopping down on the couch across from him. “Seriously. I get you have a rep, but this is just ridiculous. And have you seen Ryan? Like, in actual _daylight_? You guys aren’t one of those only-see-each-other-at-night couples, right? I’m actually concerned, now. My point is, no one is screwing with him, I can promise you that. But hey. You do you, man.”

 

Keith would put more energy into explaining it, but fuck, he’s _famished_. Getting your brains screwed out of your head tends to do that to a guy.

 

“While I’d love to assure you that Ryan doesn’t give a fuck about what everyone else thinks, I am. Ravenous. I could eat a horse right now. Speaking of horses, did you know that Lance has a _horse_ _dick_? I swear that shit was like thirteen-“

 

“ _I don’t want to hear that, Keith!”_ James protests, covering his ears. “Thought you said you were hungry, not _thirsty_ , fucking Christ.”   
  
 “I _am_ hungry. But I’m also gay as fuck, so it clashes sometimes. What do we have to eat?”   
  
James makes an almost disgusted noise and gestures to the kitchen. “Pizza. I ordered some ‘cause you weren’t here to bitch about my choice of veggies and I didn’t feel like cooking.

“Your choice of veggies is _shit_ , James,” Keith says, pushing himself to get off of the couch to satisfy the monster that is his hunger, even if he has to pick off every single topping on that pizza. “It’s fucking shit. It's just common knowledge that you don’t put black olives on a pizza, it’s disgraceful.”

 

“It’s actually pretty normal,” James sighs,sounding _very_ tired of Keith’s bullshit. It makes Keith snicker to himself. “You’re just picky.”

 

“No,” Keith answers, walking into the kitchen and tossing the cardboard lid of the pizza box open, “I just have common sense.” He looks down at the pizza, and lo and behold, the toppings are gross. Black olives, arugula, onions. Keith’s nose wrinkles in disgust, almost _distressed_ over the blatant disrespect.

 

“I wish Gordon Ramsay could see what you put on your pizza,” Keith says with a sad shake of his head, “Do you know how fast you’d be cursed out? It would be _instant._ ”

 

 “Yeah yeah, some hungry brit with anger issues wants to tell me my pizza is invalid. Big deal.” James mutters with a wave of his hand, watching as Keith starts picking every last piece of depression off of his pizza. “...You don’t have to be so _dramatic_ about it.”

 

  “Actually,” Keith starts, picking the very last piece of sadness and despair (an olive) off of his slice and turning back to talk to his roommate, “I very much have to be dramatic. Even the italians would hate this. And they _made_ this shit.”

 

 “Okay, are you done talking shit about my pizza choice? Are you done? Can we stop?”

 

 The rest of the day goes by fairly….. well. Fast. Lance doesn't call him, which he's kind of disappointed about, but hey, it's not like there's some unspoken rule about having to call someone within twenty-four hours of obtaining their number. (If there was, Keith would be a little more hurt about it.)  Same goes for the day after. By the third day though, it starts to show that Keith is more than a little disappointed, and James tries to make him feel better by buying him regular cheese pizza for dinner. It helps, a little, but disappointed chewing has a very distinct sound, one that drives James to retreat to his room. Eventually, Keith does the same, taking his very pitiful slice of pizza to his room and plopping down on his bed.

 

He wants to act like he’s unaffected, wants to not care, but he actually kind of liked Lance. Well, _definitely,_ liked Lance. Maybe it was silly of him to think a one night stand while slightly intoxicated would turn into something more, but man, he was really hoping it would.

 

Just when it hits nine o’clock, and Keith is laying in bed, ready to accept defeat, ready to accept the fact that a guy who never wants to see him again has a video of them fucking, there’s a rapid fire knock against his window. Now, their apartment isn’t hard to reach by any means, they’re only on the second floor and Keith’s room is especially easy because the side his window on is where the fire escape is. That being said, Keith has never ever in all of his months living here, seen someone climb the fire escape for anything. That is, until right now, when Keith sits up on his bed in confusion only to let out a very very manly screech when he sees Lance McClain outside of his window.

 

_What the fuck_ . “What are you doing here?!”   
  
  Lance doesn’t answer, but instead raps his knuckles against the glass again, more insistent this time, with his eyes wide like a silent _open the fucking window already_ . Keith jumps off of his bed and quickly opens the window with a quiet _“What the hell are you doing?_ ”   
  
  “Came to see you,” Lance says, a _stupidly childish_ grin on his lips. “Duh. Can you move out of the way? It’s kind of cold out here.”

 

 Keith blanks a little. “It’s sixty five degrees?”

 

 “You know, not everyone is freakishly into freezing to death. Let me _in_.”

 

Keith looks around, as if to makes sure James isn’t standing at his bedroom door with 911 on speed dial, and moves out of the way to let Lance climb in. “How did you find out where I _live?_ Don’t tell me you’re one of those weird one-night stand stalkers. I’ll have to beat your ass, McClain.”  

 

  He knows that, logically speaking, he probably found it through Ryan, considering he’s dating his roommate, but a part of him is still a little upset with the man. He stands back, tapping his fingers against the outsides of his pockets. Lance opens his mouth to speak, but Keith cuts him off.  

 

 “Ah ah ah! Before you say anything!  Lemme get this straight, in case I’m missing things. You don’t call, like you said you would. For uh, three days. But you climb up my fire escape and knock on my window like a creep? Chivalry isn’t dead after all. Well done.”

 

Lance winces a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aahh… yeah. About that. I _wanted_ to call, but whenever I tried, I kind of got interrupted.”

 

 “Outside of your frat house exists. That’s a place, you know. A very big one, actually.”

 

“You do not know my frat brothers.” Lance deadpans, and then he’s laughing. Albeit nervously, but it’s still a laugh. “So um. I’m here. I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to leave you hanging. I know the feeling, so it kind of sucks knowing I did the same thing to you, on purpose or no, so I’m really sorry about that.”    
  
 He offers a sort of half-smile, one that makes the butterflies in Keith’s stomach go _haywire_. “Forgive me?”

 

_Stupid, stupid man_ , Keith thinks. _Of course I do_. “It’s nine o’ clock.”

 

“Nine o’ three, actually,” Lance corrects. “Almost nine o’ four. Come on, Keith,” he damn near whines. “Keep up.”

 

Keith narrows his eyes, “Don’t make me regret forgiving you, McClain.” And before the words are even fully out of his mouth Keith _knows_ he’s made a mistake. That fact is only further confirmed when Lance lights up like a damn Christmas tree, eyes going from deep ocean blue to crystal clear Caribbean blue.

 

“You forgive me.” Lance says, stupid dopey smile on his lips. Keith scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nope, no I don’t. I never said that.” He denies, even though he literally said it not twenty seconds ago.

 

“You forgiveeee meeee.” Lance sing-songs, taking a step toward him. Keith sniffs, tilting his head away from the boy and once again he is frowning _not_ pouting. “No I don’t.” He huffs. And Lance is so close to him now that he can feel the heat coming off of his skin. He reaches out, hands resting on Keith’s crossed arms.

 

“C’mon, admit it, you forgive me.” Lance says with a stupid grin on his lips. Keith doesn’t answer.

 

Lance leans forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Do you forgive me now?” Keith makes a sound that’s supposed to be something akin to ‘no’ in the back of his throat. Lance hums, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Now?” Keith gives a little shake of his head, he refuses to admit this is working.

 

Lance gives a little laugh, one of his hands coming to grip at Keith’s chin, turning his head so they’re face to face. He’s grinning, blue eyes dancing with mirth. He leans forward and Keith’s eyes slide shut, their lips meeting in a sweet, chaste kiss.

 

“Now?” Lance asks, voice a whisper.

 

“Maybe.” Keith grumbles, and he refuses to go any higher than that. Lance grins, pulling at Keith’s arms, and he huffs, uncrossing them in response. The boys eyes twinkle in victory, pulling Keith’s arms up around his neck and letting his fall to wrap around Keith’s torso, pulling them closer together. Keith wants to stay stony faced, wants to make Lance work for it, really he does, but there’s just something about Lance’s charm that makes him weak in the knees.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lance says, and Keith rolls his eyes, fingers playing with the curls at the base of Lance’s neck. His grin widens, hands sliding down and pressing lightly against the small of Keith’s back, “Could you also _maybe_ consider going out with me sometime?” He asks, and his tone is so damn hopeful that even _if_ Keith was considering saying no, and there isn’t even a slight chance in hell he was, he wouldn’t be able to. But, that doesn’t mean he can’t give Lance a run for his money. He refuses to be _that_ easy.

 

“I don’t know,” Keith hums, and for some reason they’re swaying back in forth like they’re dancing or something, and Keith doesn’t mind it at all, really, it fills his stomach with butterflies. “Convince me I should.”

 

 “And how would I go about doing that?” Lance questions, tilting his head to the side with a brow raised. “

 

  “Well. A phone call would be nice.”   
  
“You are _insufferable_.”

 

  Keith throws his head back with a laugh, gently tightening  his grip on Lance’s neck, and as he’s slowly turned towards his bedroom door, he sees a very pissy-looking figure standing in the hallway. “Oh. Hi, James.”

 

 “It’s fucking nine eleven,” James hisses. “What are you doing? Why is he— who is he??”

 

Lance turns to face the newly lit hallway. “Hi, James,” he starts, and Keith can practically _feel_ the dumbassery, “You know, for a split second, I thought Ryan was lying when he said you lived here.”

 

James’ face colors red faster than the speed of light and he just stands there, staring at them, nodding his head in defeat.

 

“I take it you’re Lance.”

 

  “That I am,” Lance hums, a sly little grin on his face. “Nice to meet you, _Darling.”_

 

 Keith is pretty sure he's never physically felt a full body blush from another person before. Well, it's either a blush or very intense rage, and he's almost 100% certain that James physically cannot rage after six in the evening. He stutters a little bit before letting out a shaky sigh. “... Keep him out of our kitchen.”

 

 “I'm not a pet, James,” Lance snorts. He ignores him. _“Keep him out.”_  

 

 “Yes yes, I'll keep my puppy away from your darling edibles,” Keith hums, smiling over Lance's shoulder. “Now shoo, we're busy.”

 

 “No dirtying up the floor.”

 

“Good- _bye_ , James.”

 

 James shuffles out of the doorway, and he shuts the light off soon after, leaving Keith and his _guest_ in the dark again. He prefers it, if he's being honest. Lance laughs a little, gently squeezing Keith's waist. “So.”

 

  Keith raises a brow, tilting his head to the side. “Sooo?”

 

 “I'd really like to go out with you, Keith.”

 

“Interesting sentiment.”

 “Shut up, I'm trying, okay? This is kinda new to me.”

 

“How?” Keith asks. “Thought you were a flirt and all that good stuff. This should come easy for you.”

 

 Lance shrugs a little, that dopey smile Keith adores back on his lips. “It should, but. You make me nervous. That's not normal for me, you know. Most of the people I flirt with are. Well. Not you.”

 

 “I'd hope so. Think it'd be a little weird with a good thousand Keith Koganes running around for you to flirt with.”  

 

“You know what I mean,” Lance groans. Keith can't say this isn't satisfying. He's enjoying this, really, but he does want to know what Lance has got to say.

 

  “Okay. And if I didn't know what you meant?”

 

“ I mean that you're the first person that's made me recite 'ask him out on a date’ lines 'cause I'm nervous and— I don't know. I like you. I like you a lot. And plus.. you've already been my date for a party. Why not for everything else?”

 

 Keith hums in thought. Thinks it over. Contemplates. “Mmkay. But if we're gonna be going out? No climbing through my window at nine o'clock at night.”

 

 “Nine o’ three,” Lance corrects.

 

 “Don't make me throw you out.”

 

“You wouldn’t.” Lance says, challenge in his voice, and Keith is really about to prove him wrong but before he can Lance is kissing him again, stopping any coherent thought that might’ve been forming in Keith’s head. It’s soft but firm and _God_ if Keith is gonna melt at every damn kiss Lance gives him then he’ll be useless in an argument.

 

When he pulls away Keith sucks in a deep breath, attempting to piece together his scattered thoughts. He ignores the way Lance is smirking down at him, trying to think because _what was he doing?_ Right, he was kicking Lance out because backing down from a presented challenge is not what Keith does, especially if it’s from Lance.

 

He barely even opens his mouth, somehow managing to say, “Get o-“ before he’s cut off by Lance’s lips once again. Keith’s fingers tighten in the boys curls, breathing a shaky sigh against his mouth. Lance kisses him just a little harder this time, grip tightening slightly on his waist, lips warm and soft on Keith’s own. It’s almost intoxicating, the feeling, Lance’s cologne filling his nose as the boy tilts his head to better slot their lips together. It makes Keith weak in the knees, and as Lance pulls away he lingers, their lips barely brushing one another’s, before pulling back enough for Keith to look him in the eyes.

 

Keith ~~pouts~~ frowns, breathing just a little heavy. “That isn’t fair.”  

 

Lance smiles. “All's fair in love and war, baby.”

 

  Keith taps his fingers against the back of Lance’s neck, eyebrows raised in muted surprise. “Really? And which one is this?”

 

The smile on Lance’s face only widens, and he dips his head as if he’s going for another kiss, only to murmur against his lips, “Whatever you want it to be.”   
  
Damn.

—

 

  Lance doesn’t stay very long, much to Keith’s displeasure, but he does promise a phone call in the morning. Keith threatens to cut him if he doesn’t call. Lance kisses him. The threat is forgotten.

 

The next morning, Keith wakes up feeling pretty, well. Okay. It’s much better than waking up and wondering if the guy you fucked is gonna call you, that’s for sure. He also wakes up to a… fairly interesting text.

 

_10 unopened messages from_ **_Romelle_ **

 

Okay. More like ten. He rubs at his eyes and unlocks his phone, scrolling through the messages he missed.

 

_Keith, holy guac in a sock please tell me you’re awake_

_So help me god you’d better be awake this is SERIOUS_

_Keith!!!!! Hello???? Is this you???_ _  
_ _Uploaded video file._

 

Keith blinks at his screen for a moment, staring at the video thumbnail. At first it doesn’t resonate with him, just looks like a blurry pale body, before he realizes. That’s the same thumbnail he saw on Lance’s phone when he’d left.

 

 Holy. Fucking. Shit.

 

 He keeps scrolling, eyes getting wider with each missed message.

 

_Oh my god everyone’s talking about it and I’ve been getting questions??_ _  
_ _They’re saying it was a guy from Morehouse???_

_Keith you didn’t tell me you went to Morehouse wtf!!!_

 

This cannot be happening. Oh fucking _Christ_ this can’t be happening.

 

  _It’s all over freaking campus????_

 

Lance wouldn’t. Well, he _said_ he would but they were drunk. He couldn’t have been _serious_ . And after everything he’d said? He wouldn’t. He _wouldn’t._

_  
_ _I got the video from that guy you used to be into?? Rolo?? He said it’s like. EVERYWHERE. PornHub, RedTube, that other stupid youtube knockoff??? EVERYWHERE_

 

… Would he?

 

_Keith! WAKE UP !!!_

 

_I’m awake. Can you come get me? I need to make a trip._

 

Romelle shows up at his apartment maybe ten minutes later, which is more than enough time for him to pull on some jeans and a t-shirt. He makes sure to grab Lance’s jeans too. As throwing material, of course.   
  
“Hey,” she starts, watching as he silently jumps into the car. “You okay?”   
  
“Fine. You know how to get to Morehouse, right? You might just have to wait outside. Don’t really plan on sticking around today.”

 

  His phone rings in his pocket, and he pulls it out to see an unknown number. Lance had promised him he’d call in the morning. Too bad Keith’s already seen the video. He probably would’ve answered.

 

There really aren’t any words for the ever growing rage that fills Keith’s chest. He could say he sees red, that he’s so angry he shakes with it, but no. It’s nothing like that. He’s murderous, in all honesty, itching to hit something, and Lance’s face will do just nicely. The longer the ride, the easier it is to imagine his face, his stupidly adorable face, getting beat to a pulp under Keith’s fists. Oh, he can almost _taste_ his satisfaction, and it leaves him damn near trembling in his seat.

 

Getting to Morehouse seems to take forever, but that’s probably just Keith anger speaking. In reality he’s sure they get there at a reasonable time, driving through to get to the Alpha Phi Alpha frat. Romelle parks outside, and she doesn’t even get a chance to say anything to Keith before he’s hopping out of the car and marching up to the front door. He doesn’t knock, doesn’t bother to give it the time, swinging the door open and marching in like he owns the place.

 

 The first one to notice him is the one Hunk pointed out as Reeves. “Oh shit, what’s u—”   
  
“Where is he.”

 

“Kitchen.” Reeves says quickly, noticing the look on Keith’s face and seeming to wave a white flag immediately. Keith brushes past him and there the fucker is, standing in the kitchen, leaning on the counter in a baggy shirt and jeans. He turns his head, they lock eyes, and a stupid stupid _stupid_ grin stretches out across his face.

 

“Keith! What are you-“ He doesn’t finish. Keith doesn’t let him, launching forward, his fist connecting with Lance’s jaw.

 

“ _Oooooooo SHIT!”_

 

_“Daaaamnnnn!”_

 

Keith doesn’t notice the comments shouted into the air by Lance’s frat brothers, just like he doesn’t notice he’s crying until Lance’s face whips back around to stare at him, wide eyed and shocked, blurry thanks to the tears welling up in his eyes. “What—”   
  
 Keith hits him again, and again, and _again_ , yelling words he can’t hear, eye stinging with tears that he refuses to cry. It isn’t until Lance grabs him, holds his arms to his sides, that he stops. “Keith??? Baby— baby calm _down_ , what the hell is the matter-- ”   
  
 “You are!” Keith yells, pushing himself out of Lance’s grip and shoving him back. “You thought this shit was a joke?? What, you think you can just fuck me and get me to I don’t know, _like you?_ And then you do this?? Is this some kind of fucked up game to you?? Do I look like a _joke_ to you, Lance?!”

 

“Keith,” Lance says slowly, like he’s talking to a feral animal, “I have. No idea what you’re talking about. You’re not a joke to me-“

 

Keith laughs, and it’s full of bitter anger. “Well you could’ve fucking fooled me. And please, _please_ , for the sake of my sanity, don’t act like you don’t fucking know. Don’t act like you didn’t post that video, just _don’t_.”

 

Lance’s eyes widen at his words, and, for a moment, he looks dumbfounded. Keith is waiting for the inevitable, the ‘im sorry’ or some other bullshit along those line, furiously wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand.

 

“I didn’t post the video, Keith, I swear to God. I wouldn’t—I _couldn’t_ do that to you.”

 

 Keith goes blank for a second, staring at the man in front of him, and for a split second— for a _split second_ , he believes him. But it just doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense to him anymore; not the kisses, not the stupid ass grins. Not the climbing through his window in the middle of the night.

 

 None of it. _“Fuck you_ , Lance.”

 

 “Keith—”  
  
 “No, no, don’t!” Keith yells, and then Lance’s hand are on him again, and he’s seeing red, thrashing against his hold like an animal in captivity, wanting to be anywhere, _anywhere_ other than here. “Let go of me— _Let go of me—!!”_

 

_“I didn’t post the video,”_ Lance says, and his voice is so sincere, damn near dripping with it, blue eyes boring into Keith’s own. “I swear,” He breathes, and he sounds _hurt,_ “I swear I didn’t. You have no reason to believe me but please, please trust me.”

 

Keith blinks, hands shaky, and he deflates in Lance’s arms. He tries to hold back the hiccuping sobs that push past his lips, but it’s really no use. Lance pulls him close, arms wrapping tight around him, and Keith sobs into his shirt. Realistically, he knows Lance hadn’t done it. Sure, he hasn’t known the guy that long at all, but he can feel it deep in his bones. Lance wouldn’t screw him over like that. He wouldn’t screw _anyone_ over like that. It just makes no sense, because if Lance hadn’t done it then who did? Surly not Casper the fucking ghost. And as silly as it sounds Keith _does_ trust Lance, a lot more than he’s ever trusted anyone else.

 

 “Well then who did?” Comes a voice from the kitchen entrance, and Keith looks up to see Ryan, standing there with his hands behind his back, and almost the entirety of the frat behind him. “This doesn’t just _happen_ . People are already putting names to faces _and_ cameramen. Only a matter of time before the dean is on our asses.”

 

 “I don’t know,” Lance answers, and Keith swears his voice cracks a little. Be it with anger or sincerity, he cannot tell. “I just know I’d never do that, especially without asking. You know that.”

 

   “I can figure it out,” someone from behind the tiny crowd in the kitchen mutters, and then everyone is making way for Rizavi himself, dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt, glasses pushed up on his forehead and his laptop in hand. “I can find out who posted it. I need your phone though, Lance, and I do hope you still have that video. Otherwise, you’re in some deep, deep shit.”   
  
“I have the video.” Lance answers, Keith pulling away from him once he’s composed himself. Lance keeps contact, though, and he isn’t complaining, one hand holding Keith’s nice and tight, his voice sounding strained. He digs in his pocket and hands the device over, watching as Rizavi uses a cord to hook it up to his computer. Keith decides that he _does_ sound angry, and when he clears his vision, wiping tears from his eyes with his free hand, he decides Lance _looks_ angry, too.

 

 Rizavi nods, pulling his chair closer to the table and moving his glasses over his eyes with a sigh. “Alright, then. Let’s get to it.”

 

 It doesn’t take more than ten, maybe fifteen minutes of tense silence before Rizavi lifts his head. “Lotor.”   
  
“Lotor?” Hunk asks. “Like, the _hacker_ , Lotor??”   
  
  “Yes.” Rizavi deadpans, turning back towards Lance. “Know that name? Come across him before or anything?”

 

Lance furrows his brows in confusion. “Yeah— once. It was at a party a couple of months ago? Dude kept getting in my space and trying to offer me a ‘deal.’ Creepy ass. How the fuck did he get into my phone?”   
  
 “He probably snagged an IP while he was with you,” Rizavi replies, eyes trained on the screen in front of him. He’s typing so fast Keith isn’t sure if he’s getting anything done for a moment. “He’s been watching you for two months.”   
  
Okay. So he is.

 

Lance blanks a little, mouthing to himself before saying out loud, “I have a phone stalker?”   
  
 “That’s fucked up,” Adonis mutters. Reeves nods in disgust. “Agreed.”   
  
“Mmhm. Looks like he was just searching for some dirt, but surprisingly, you’ve been pretty clean. Very PG. Smart of you, by the way. Guess once he caught wind of an anomaly of sorts, he latched onto it. And there you have it, viral video broadcasted from Lance McClain’s cell phone.”

 

 Ryan nods, a scowl on his lips. “Alright. Now what do we do?”   
  
“I can reverse it. Get everything taken down and get as many downloads on lock and key as possible. Maybe even wipe a couple of phones down that… really need it. I can’t promise it’ll all go away, but for the most part, it’ll disappear. I just gotta get into his system. Give me two hours, tops.”   
  
 “Perfect,” Lance mutters. “Think you can get me his address while you’re at it?”   
  
“Mmm,” Rizavi hums. “Give me five minutes.”

 

 “I’m leaving in three.”   
  
“Then give me two.”

 

 Lance nods and storms out of the kitchen, unaware that he’s pulling Keith with him. Or, it seems like he’s unaware. Keith stumbles behind him, watches as he grabs his jacket from off of one of the chairs in the living room. “Lance?” He asks, super intelligently, “What are you doing?”   
  
 “Paying Lotor a visit,” Lance says, and his voice is scarily calm, letting go of Keith’s hand in favor of pulling his jacket on. “Got a few words for him, think they’ll have more impact in person.”

 

He pauses, and continues, his voice much softer than before. “You… Don’t have to come, if you don’t want to.”

 

Keith snorts. “This dude almost cost me a date and about four tubs of ice cream. I’m coming.”

 

 “Got him!” Rizavi calls from the kitchen. “Thirty twenty three. Dekalb avenue. _Decatur._ ”

 

Lance recoils. “Decatur? Isn’t that in the suburbs? Aw maan, Rizavi, this is _too easy_ ,” he almost whines, turning on his heels and speeding out of the door with Keith right behind him.

 

 “Don’t get arrested!” Hunk yelps. Lance sticks his middle finger in the air, and Keith attempts to translate. “He said he’ll try not to!”   
  
 “I’ve got a ride,” he mumbles for Lance to hear, brushing past him and waving his arm towards what he hopes is Romelle sitting in her car. She must have parked somewhere else, for discretion purposes. When she pulls up, she gives Lance a once over, and leans back in her seat. “He can sit in the trunk.”   
  
 “Not now,” Keith groans, sliding into the passenger seat and gesturing for Lance to sit in the back. “Listen, I’m sorry to—”   
  
“Look. I get it. You gotta beat someone up? Fine. Just promise you won’t murder anybody, and I’ll gladly be your designated driver.”

 

 Keith stares at her, and finishes buckling himself in. “Good. We have an address for you. Thirty twenty three Dekalb in Decatur?”   
  
 “The suburbs??”   
  
“Yeah. Sound like something you can make happen?”   
  
 Romelle eyes her gas tank, and shrugs. “Why not? I got gas.”   
  
“I love you.”

 

Romelle grins, turning the wheel and pressing on the gas, zooming away from the Alpha Phi Alpha house and taking off down the street, her voice smug when she speaks, “I know.”

 

   Keith knows it isn't really long until they reach the suburbs, but the tension in the car makes it feel much longer. Lance doesn't talk through the ride, settling for running his thumb over his knuckles as he looks out of the window. He grips Keith's fingers with his other hand, tight enough to grab his attention every few seconds. He almost forgets why they're in the car together to begin with.

 

Almost , just because it would be impossible to not notice the anger rolling off of Lance’s shoulders like how heat travels off concrete on a hot day.

 

Lotor, just as Keith expected from a creepy hacker dude that stays in the suburbs, lives in a cul de sac. It's easy to imagine him in his basement, surrounded by computers in the dark, probably hunched over his favorite computer like the total fucking creep he seems to be. Maybe he watches too many crime shows, but then again, he doesn't really have much to go by.

 

 “Here we are,” Romelle sing-songs, stopping the car, and no sooner has she opened her mouth to give Keith and Lance the rundown on how _not_ to fuck someone up, the door opens, and an older woman steps out of the house, stopping when she spots the car sitting out front. Keith is pretty sure all the different shades of fear crossed her face, before she smiled.

 

 This must be a routine for her. “Hi!!” she calls, waving towards the trio. “You must be Lotor's friends??”

 

 Lance snorts, louder than necessary. Keith smacks him on the arm and grins with Romelle. “Yeah, something like that.”

 

“Come in come in!” The woman calls, waving her hand towards the door, “It's too cold for you kids to be sitting out here.”

 

Keith and Lance look at each other briefly before scrambling out of the car, slamming the doors behind them and walking towards the house as Romelle calls out after them, telling them to be safe. Keith almost feels bad, taking advantage of this lady like this, but whatever works, right? Besides, he can’t help but find it a little funny, big hacker Lotor lives in his mother’s basement.

 

“Can I get you guys anything?” The woman asks, smile on her lips as they step into the house. Lance looks about ready to spring, and Keith feels the same way, unable to really properly articulate himself. Luckily, Lance is good under pressure, smile gracing his lips like it’s as easy as breathing.

 

“No, thank you though. You have a very beautiful home.” Lance says, voice unwavering, smooth. The woman lights up at the compliment, thanking Lance with a big smile on her face. And once the formalities are over she says, “Lotor is just in the basement, I’m sure he’ll be happy to see y’all!”

 

She leads them to the steps of said basement, says something about how she’s going to the grocery store and will be back soon, and then Keith’s blood is rushing with adrenaline because they’re walking down the steps. Lance takes his hand, squeezes it gently, anchoring Keith to reality. It's fairly well lit, which is fairly shocking, but Keith supposes that there are plenty of basements with windows for outside light. The farther down the stairs they get, the more _normal_ the room seems to get? There's carpet on the floor, and plenty of band posters hanging up on the walls, a couple of desks and bean bags near the corners. There's a couple of lamps, one near the stairs and one beside the collection of laptops— which is pretty close to what Keith was imagining he supposed—  and one beside the bed.

 

  The bed, where a lanky looking white-haired teenager sits, legs crossed, writing out an anthropology essay and humming to the tune of Rick Astley's _Never Gonna Give You Up_ to himself. Keith feels Lance tense up, and in the same second, the white-haired boy looks up with a question on his tongue, but instead of seeing his mother, he sees two fellow men, one of which he's met, and the other he's ~~reluctantly~~ watched on his laptop. Neither of who look happy.

 

  The pieces of the puzzle come together. “Look—”

 

Lance doesn't even give him a chance to finish, damn near _flying_ across the room to knock the man off of his bed and onto the floor with the front of his shirt balled up into his fists and screaming into his face _“You tracked my phone, asshole?!”_

 

Lotors eyes blow open wide, panic and fear playing out all over his nasty, crusty ass face. He attempts to shove Lance off of him, an effort that seems to work in the short run when Lance gets knocked back, allowing the snake to scramble to his feet. In the end his efforts are futile, however, because Lance is on his feet not even a millisecond later, charging at the hacker far too fast for him to process. He’s slammed against the wall, two tan hands bunched tightly in his shirt, two deep blue eyes, crashing with tidal wave and tidal wave of anger, seeming to burn holes in his skull.

 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Lance says with a smile on his lips that in no way reaches his eyes. It’s... pretty fucking scary if Lotor is being honest. Lance continues, “ _You tracked my phone?_ ”

 

   “I— I just— I mean yeah, I did track your phone but only because I wanted to— _AAH!!”_   
  
Lance slams his back against the wall, and Lotor cries out in pain, babbling that he’s sorry, that he had just wanted Lance to talk to him and he wouldn’t talk to him and that he's’ sorry, that he’d found the video and just sent it out without a second thought because he was so angry and that he’s sorry, sorry sorry sorry sorry, sorry until Lance rears his arm back and cracks him across the jaw. “You don’t have the fucking _right_ to track me, for _any_ reason!”

 

  Lotor crumbles onto the ground, and Lance is rearing his foot back, and Keith… can’t watch this. He thought that he could, that this would just be another fight he was invited to tag along on, that he’d be okay with watching this piece of shit get beaten to a pulp, but watching this— watching Lance like this? As much of a fucking turn on as it may be, he finds himself with a conscience.

 

_I’ll just be out to the store really quick! I’ll be back soon!_

 

     “Lance!” Keith calls, and _fuck_ Lance is really beating the shit out of this guy. He doesn’t respond to Keith’s cry, doesn’t even seem to register it until Keith is flying across the room and wrapping his hands around Lance’s arms, trying to tug him away from where Lotor is crumpled on the ground.

 

“Lance, come on, you’re gonna kill him.” Keith breathes, voice slightly panicked when Lance doesn’t seem to budge at first. He does eventually, however, allowing Keith to pull him away, to stumble back until he can’t reach the pathetic, whimpering mess in front of him. “C’mon, let’s go, okay? Let’s go.”   
  
 Lotor doesn’t move much, still cowering on the floor in vear that if he lifts his head, he’ll be met with blue eyes doused in fire. His own devil eyes. He doesn’t look up until he knows that they’re both up the stairs and completely out of his room, and Keith doesn’t let go of Lance until they’ve reached the car. Romelle stares  at Lance’s knuckles, registers the blood that dirties up his hand. “So! Didya kill him??”

 

 “Almost, not quite,” Keith mutters, pushing Lance into the car. Romelle stares. “What??”   
  
  “Almost doesn’t count,” Lance retorts, but he doesn’t push back against the pair of hands trying to manhandle him into a seat. “Get— Keith, get off of me.”   
  
  “Just making sure you don't do something stupid like fly out the window and back inside of that house,” Keith huffs. He slips back into the passenger seat. “Okay, last drive for you, friend.”   
  
 “Will it end with me getting pulled over by the police?”   
  
Lance shakes his head. “If he’s smart? No.”

 

 The car is silent for a moment,  until Romelle clasps her hands together. “Alright! So possible arrest. Not on my list, but hey, what can you do. Where are we going? Morehouse again?”

 

 “No,” Keith sighs out before Lance can say anything, although he has the sneaking suspicion that the boy hadn't planned to respond at all, judging by the far away look in his eyes as they pull out of the driveway.

 

“Back to my apartment.” He says. He doesn’t know if the Alpha Phi Alpha House has any first aid supplies but he _knows_ he has some, so he’s not taking any chances. Better safe than sorry. Even so, Lance doesn’t have any pressing injuries, just some minor scrapes that Keith would like to take care of. Romelle gets them back to Keith apartment fairly quickly, bidding him farewell as they climb out of the car and demanding for more details later. Keith agrees easily, threading his fingers through Lance’s own without much of a thought, tugging him along into the building as Romelle drives off.

 

There’s something… wrong with him, Keith doesn’t know what. He’s unusually quiet as they step into the elevator, the only real indicator that he’s paying attention is the slight squeeze he gives Keith’s hand. The elevator ride seems excruciatingly long, and that’s probably just because Keith keeps glancing over at Lance’s face, worry seeping deep into his bones at the blank stare adorning those pretty eyes.

 

“Lance,” Keith murmurs as the elevator doors open. Lance’s eyes flicker down to look at him, small smile pushing up at his lips.

 

“C’mon,” Lance answers, “This is our stop, isn’t it?” He asks, and Keith nods mutely, unable to say anything in response because Lance’s voice is so damn tender and _sweet._

 

Lance tugs his hand, and they’re off again, making quick work of walking down the hallway until they’re pushing open the door of Keith’s apartment. Luckily for them, James is gone, off to a dick appointment if Keith isn’t mistaken.

 

“Go wash your hands in the kitchen, make sure you didn’t split your knuckles too badly,” Keith instructs, stepping away from the boy, “I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

 

 Lance nods and drops his hand, walking off to wash his hands, and Keith makes his way to the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinet under the sink until he finds the little blue box he’s looking for _. Bingo. Infection begone._

 

He walks back into the kitchen and plants the box on top of the counter. “Listen, while I appreciate you wanting your hands to be as clean as they possibly can after coming into contact with actual shit in human form, I have to remind you that I pay for that water. Every month.”   
  
 Lance laughs a little in response, shutting the water off and shaking his hands in front of him until they’re at least semi-dry. “I apologize for contributing to a water bill I don’t pay for, even though I was told to.”   
  
 “I said wash your hands not drown ‘em,” Keith retorts. He rolls his eyes and points to one of the stools across the counter from him. “Sit down so I can wrap you up.”   
  
 “They’re not that serious—”   
  
“You say that until you get gangrene or some shit. _Sit down_.”

 

Lance, albeit reluctantly, plops down in a bar stool and holds his hands out towards Keith over the counter, palms up. “Are you gonna arrest me now, officer?”   
  
“Very funny,” Keith mutters, gripping his left hand and turning it over so he can dab at the little wounds with an alcohol wipe. “Keep your fantasies to yourself, your damn hands are still bleeding. Dumbass.”

 

Lance grins, ignoring the little sting from the alcohol pads in favor for watching Keith face, nose all scrunched up in concentration, and Lance can say with confidence that it is the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

 

“You’re very pretty.” He murmurs absentmindedly, and Keith’s face blooms red, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear and clearing his throat in an attempt to contain himself.

 

“Shut up.” Keith grumbles, setting Lance’s hands down and reaching for the other one to do the same treatment. Lance raises an eyebrow, shoulders jumping a little when the alcohol meets his wounds.

 

   “Why? The truth is the truth.”

 

“And the _truth_ is you need to _truthfully_ shut up.”   
  
 Keith pauses in the middle of bandaging his hand with a sigh. “Thank you. For uh…. Doing all of that. After I punched you in the face.”

 

“Multiple times.” Lance says, small, teasing smile on his face. “You punched me in the face multiple times.”   
  
And just when Keith is about to start feeling bad Lance sobers up, smile wiped from his lips, his free hand coming to tilt Keith’s head up.

 

“No, but seriously. It was the least I could do, after I got you into this situation. No need to thank me, okay?” And just when Keith opens his mouth to object Lance shifts in his seat, leaning across the counter and getting in close, pressing his lips to Keith’s and successfully shutting him up. The kiss is long and a little bit urgent, lips slotted perfectly together, the type of kiss that makes Keith feel like jello. When Lance pulls away Keith sucks in a sharp breath of air, his words wispy when he speaks, “Not fair.”

 

“I’d say it’s more than fair, baby.” Lance murmurs, and _God_ , as much as Keith hates to admit it that voice does things to him. Maybe it’s because he was already kind of turned on, maybe it’s because he can feel Lance’s breath blowing out over his lips. Honestly Keith is pretty sure it’s a mixture of all those things, but he doesn’t have the braincells to focus too much on it right now because Lance is kissing him again. Hot, wet and open mouthed with Lance’s tongue sliding past his lips. His hand slides behind Keith’s neck, gripping tight, and Keith whimpers lightly in his mouth.

 

Lance swallows it up eagerly,standing up from the stool, pressing his lips harder against Keith and licking into his mouth like it belongs to him.

 

When he pulls away and Keith sucks in lungfuls of oxygen, feeling almost dizzy, heat seeming to crawl over his skin. Lance hums gently, dragging his tongue over Keith’s lips and stopping just before the boys nose, only to lean back and plant another brief kiss against his lips.

 

“You have such a pretty mouth, baby.” Lance purrs gently, other hand coming up to stroke against Keith's cheek. Keith leans into it, lost in the tingly feeling Lance left on his lips, lost in the dark oceans that are Lance’s eyes.

 

“ _Quiero darte besos todos los días, mi amor.”_ Lance murmurs, voice sweet as honey, “ _Por todo tu cuerpo._ ”

 

Keith doesn’t know what he said, but it sends shivers dancing down his spine. He looks up at Lance, his face framed in the boy’s hands, eyes shining bright with want. Lance stares back at him, eyes burning holes into his skin, setting his body aflame. He feels wonderfully, perfectly trapped, breath coming shallowly as his mind races with the possible things Lance’ll do to him.

 

Lance smirks, fingers trailing down Keith’s cheek and jaw before coming to press his thumb against the boy’s bottom lip. “I wonder what these pretty lips would look like stretched around my cock.”

 

  _Oh._

 

Keith is pretty sure the room tilts a little as he stares up at Lance, and it's like he's back in the frat house all over again, eyes locked on Lance's, _drowning_ in endless blue, drowning in Lance _himself_ . He doesn't realize he's stopped breathing until he sucks in a small breath, making Lance chuckle a bit as he slides his thumb across his lip. And maybe it's his eyes, or the way he's talking, or those _unfairly_ intoxicating kisses, or the thumb on his lip, gentle and patient and _demanding_ — but he's never wanted to drop to his knees so fast in his _life._

 

   He wraps his fingers around Lance's wrist and pulls his thumb into his mouth, hums as he glides his tongue over it. He _swears_ Lance's eyes darken a little, swears his breath deepens as he toys with him, sucking his thumb farther into his mouth with a little hum of satisfaction. With a little _pop!,_ he pulls off, a lazy grin on his lips. Lance looks just about ready to explode.

 

      “You gonna fuck my face now, _papi?_ ” He asks, a challenge in his voice because oh fuck, does he _want_ this. “Or you just gonna keep fantasizing about how pretty my  lips are on your way back to your little frat house?”

 

Lance’s eyes swirl with some hidden emotion Keith can’t put his finger on, his face hardening in a way that sends Keith’s heart racing ten times faster. He has a look on his face that Keith isn’t familiar with, one he saw glimpses of at that night at the frat house, but never managed to fully pull out. It’s stony, authoritative, almost scary in nature. Like he’s about to dish out orders and he expects you to follow them, no matter what.

 

“Get over here.” Lance commands, and his voice is so steely that it leaves little room for argument, pulling his hands away from Keith’s face and straightening up, squaring his shoulders. Keith does as he’s told, standing on wobbly legs and coming around the counter to stand in front of the boy. Lance smiles, but it doesn’t break the hard look covering his face, sliding his hand behind Keith’s neck and playing with the long black strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

 

“On your knees.” And the sheer power behind his words are almost enough for Keith to get down.

 

Almost.

 

Instead, because Keith never likes to make anything easy, he smirks up at Lance, defiance on his face.

 

“Make m-“ The taunting words aren’t even fully out of his mouth before Lance’s fingers are tightening in his hair and _yanking_ , his head snapping back painfully. All of the air in Keith’s chest leaves in a startled gasp, growing weak in the knees as he instinctively comes to wrap his hands around Lance’s arm. Said boy chuckles, leaning in to murmur softly against Keith’s lips, “On your knees.” He orders, “ _Now._ ” He pulls a little harder at Keith’s head, and a small whimper leaves Keith’s lips as he lowers himself down onto the ground, biting his lips as he digs his nails into Lance’s wrist.

 

  His knees hit the floor, and he looks up at Lance, eyes blown wide. Lance smirks, loosening his grip in Keiths hair and coming to grip Keith’s jaw instead.

 

“Good boy.” Lance hums, unbuttoning his pants with his free hand, letting them drop to the ground around his ankles, “Now I want that pretty mouth all open and ready for me, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” And as much as Keith wants to fight it, wants to be a little shit and make this harder for Lance, watching the boy stroke himself to full hardness right in front of his face is pretty damn tempting, makes him realize how much he really _really_ wants it, and that there's no denying it. So he does as he’s told, opens up his mouth eagerly, tongue lolling out as he waits patiently for Lance to fuck his throat.  

 

 “Very good,” Lance murmurs, idly running his fingers through Keith's hair and pressing the tip of his dick against his tongue. “Take a deep breath for me, won't you baby?”

 

 Keith melts at just how sweet his voice is, revels in the weight on his tongue.Except he doesn't have much time to enjoy it, because Lance is already invading his mouth, filling his throat out until he can feel that sweet, sweet _burn_ he'd been craving, and he has to grip onto Lance's thighs to keep from shrinking back. He swallows around him, moaning when Lance's hips jerk forward, and he tries to pull back so that he can breathe, but the once-gentle hand on his head keeps him still, and after a few agonizing seconds, Lance pulls him off of his cock, coughing and gasping for air with his face colored red.

 

 He smiles. Keith melts. “Didn't I tell you to take a deep breath, _amor?_ ”

 

 “Y-yes—”

    “And did you listen?”

 

Keith blinks up at him, still breathing a little heavily, too heavy for his liking but he couldn't care less. “No..”

 

 “No, you didn't,” Lance purrs. “Now you see what happens when you don't listen?”

 

 Keith nods, like a bobblehead. “Yes Daddy.”

 

   “Open.”

 

Keith takes a deep breath and opens his mouth again, leaning forward to tease, to _taste,_ but Lance is already claiming his mouth again, already rolling his hips forward until Keith can feel him in his throat again, and he can't help but whine when Lance starts to pull out again, only to ram himself back down his throat. Keith gags, just a little, and Lance does it again, jerking him forward as he does. He takes a second to breathe before Lance is back at it, and it isn't long until the man is flat out fucking his mouth, pulling at Keith's hair to keep him still as he uses him for his own pleasure.

 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, sweetheart, taking all of my cock down your pretty throat like that.” Lance murmurs, voice sounding a little strained as he rolls his hips forward, keeping Keith’s head still with a steel like grip in the boys hair. And he means it, he loves the sight of Keith’s pink lips stretched around him, face all flushed, slobbering around his cock with a blissed out look in his eyes. Keith gags slightly as Lance thrust his hips forward particularly hard, cock pushing down his throat, completely filling him up. He whines around him, tears pricking in his eyes, soaking wet and _throbbing_ in his boxers.

 

Keith squirms in his place on the floor, moaning pitifully around a mouthful of Lance’s cock, impossibly turned on, fingernails digging into Lance’s thighs to anchor himself. The wet sound of Lance’s dick hitting the back of his throat every so often drives him insane, and he swears he can cum just like this, untouched and swallowing Lance up eagerly.

 

Lance laughs, combing Keith’s hair back, “Do you want to touch yourself, baby?” Lance asks, mischief sparkling in his eyes, loving how warm and _wet_ Keith’s mouth feels. “Go ahead, love, touch yourself. You’re such a slut, Keith, I bet you’re soaked. All from getting used.” Lance says, groan rumbling in his throat as Keith moans almost uncontrollably around his cock, hand in between his legs, fingers  circling against his clit. And Lance is right, of course, he’s absolutely drenched, fingers slick with it, so wet that his flingers glide effortlessly through his folds.

 

“Bet you love this, being used like a toy, like I own you.” Keith whines louder, a confirmation. Lance smirks. “I bet I already do.”

 

 Lance pulls his hips back to let Keith breathe, the second he's pulled out of his mouth Keith gasps for air, only to yank Lance forward by the waistband of his jeans, mouthing at the underside of Lance’s cock with a needy, desperate moan. “Gimme,” he rasps, lips red and puffy, flattening his tongue against his slit with lidded eyes and swallowing him down all over again. Lance lets out a groan, low in his throat, and it's like _music_ to Keith's ears. _“Mmph…”_

 

     “Jesus fucking Christ,” Lance breathes, damn near _growls_ , and Keith giggles around his cock, watching him through his lashes. Lance grins down at him, tightens his grip on his hair.  “Oh. So you think this is a game?”

    Keith almost answers, but then he catches wind of the shift in Lance's eyes, and before he knows it he's choking, _gagging_ as Lance brutally fucks his throat, the wet squelch of his balls slapping against his chin ringing like bells in his ears. It's messy, sloppy in all the right ways, in how Keith can't stop salivating around his cock, in how relentless Lance’s thrusts are, in the beautiful, filthy praises that fall from his lips and leaves him blinking dots out of the corners of his eyes.

 

He’s got tears streaming down his cheeks, and Lance is so brutal with his movements that it leaves little room for Keith to breath, but that’s what has him trembling. That’s what has him cuming, before he even realizes it, gushing with an uncontrolled whine all over his fingers, dripping down his legs and ruining his pants. He’s shaking, completely helpless to Lance’s will and _loving_ it, lips all puffy and red from Lance’s assault. And _fuck_ does it burn so good, his throat feeling like it’s been licked by flames every time Lance thrust his hips forward.

 

  "Aww, you cumming for me?" Lance coos with a mock pout on his lips, and Keith can only moan in response, hips _still_ stuttering from earlier. "Such a damn slut for me, aren't you, baby? Such a _good_ little plaything, aren't  you?"

 

    Keith can hear the strain in his voice, as hard as it is with the ringing in his ears. He's damn near putty in Lances grip, pliant, perfect for Lance to toy  with, and the thought of being reduced to a simple fucktoy, as just something for Lance to play with when he's bored?

 

  _Fuck._

 

  "M'gonna paint your pretty little throat with my cum," Lance hisses, a smirk on his lips. "You want that?"

 

  _Yes please._ "Make you swallow every last little drop?" _God, yes please._ "Make you gag on my fucking kids?"

 

And Keith whines loudly around Lance’s cock, _desperate_ for it, free hand clawing against Lance’s leg, needy and hopeless with want. God, he fucking _craves_ it, wants to feel Lance cumming down his throat and he wants it _now_.

 

Lance groans deep in his throat as Keith moans around his dick, violet eyes blown wide, _Please please please please-_ repeating over and over in his head the closer Lance gets. His fingers circle rapidly over his clit, he wants to cum when Lance does, his limbs weak with want. But God, it isn’t even a want at this point, he _needs_ it. Needs Lance to ruin him, claim him, use him up and then give a kiss to his swollen lips and tell him how good he was. If he could he would beg for it, but instead he settles for whimpering and whining with every brutal thrust of Lance’s hips, eagerly swallowing him down the best he can, thighs beginning to shake he he gets closer and closer to his second orgasm.

 

It takes a few more thrust before Lance is moaning loudly, cock buried down Keith’s throat as he cums, hot white ropes painting Keith’s pretty mouth just like he had promised. And Keith? Keith is blissed out, happily swallowing wave after wave of cum that shoots into his mouth, entire body trembling from the intensity of his own orgasm, fingers slick and dripping with excessive wetness. He thinks he squirted, but really, he doesn’t know nor does he really care, far too focused on swallowing Lance up and licking him clean. To be honest he can’t even tell if he’s still shaking, it’s like this thick fog has settled over his head, numbed all of his senses to everything that isn’t Lance.

 

He whines in mild protest when Lance pulls away from him, pulling his pants back up with a breathy little laugh. Keith is about to verbalize his displeasure, but, before he knows it, Lance is pulling him up to his feet. He catches his lips in a kiss, soft and sweet, a _total_ contrast to what _literally_ just happened, but Keith absolutely doesn't mind it. He wraps shaky arms around his neck, rasping against his lips, "Did I do a good job, Daddy?"

 

 Lance smiles. "So good for me, Sweetheart."

 

 He smiles even wider when Keith's knees give out, and he bends down to lift him up off of his feet. Keith leaves open-mouthed kisses on Lance's jaw, and Lance can't help but laugh. "Doing okay, baby?"

 

“Doin’ perfect.” Keith murmurs thoughtlessly, snuggling his face into Lance’s neck. "Don't think I can walk, though. Right now. Put me on the couch, maybe?"

 

  Lance can't help but laugh, but he does as asked, carrying Keith from the kitchen to the couch in the living room and slowly lowering him onto it. Except, when he starts to stand back up, Keith doesn't let go of his neck.

 

  _Ah. Of course._  "You not gonna let go, babe? I kinda have a frat house to get back to."

 

  "Yeah, but like. I don't care," Keith mumbles. Lance smiles even harder. "Listen. I will _call_ you. Okay? I promise."

 

  Keith pouts, "Mmm. Fine. Long as I also get a heads up when you come crawling through my window again."

 

 "Who says I'm doing that again?"

 

"Whooo says you're not?"

 

Lance laughs and leans in to press a soft kiss to Keith’s pouty lips.

 

“I promise you’ll get a heads up before I crawl through your window again.” He says as he leans back, because let’s be real, he knows he’s gonna do it again. “I promise I’ll call you.” He adds, gently prying Keith’s arms from around his neck.

 

“And we can set something up so I don’t have to leave after the nights over, alright?” He says, and Keith’s nods his head, yawn on his lips, “You fuckin’ better.” He murmurs sleepily. Lance laughs again, and Keith hears the boy let himself out before he drifts off to sleep.

 

—

 

Lance does call, as he promised he would, and Keith finally gets that much awaited first date. Though, he’s not sure if it really counts since Lance ate him out in the movie theater, but he’s counting it as a win. Lance also crawls through his window again, and he _does_ stay the night a few times. Well, okay, pretty often. Sometimes Keith stays the night at the Alpha Phi Alpha house, but that’s all relative. Lance’s frat brothers seem to really like him, and Ryan tells  him, “Someone’s gotta put McClain in his place, glad its you.” So, Keith is pretty glad there’s no hard feelings about the whole punching Lance in the face multiple times thing. As quickly as things develop between them over time, none of it seems as if it’s happening too fast or anything, Lance is probably the first ever person Keith has been this comfortable around, and he wants to make sure he has that secured.

 

The whole video thing doesn’t go away completely, if the weird stares Keith gets from people on campus are any indication when he visits Lance at Morehouse, but it’s fine. Nothing he can’t handle. Not like he didn’t get stared at before or anything.

 

  Lance goes back to stepping, which… makes it sound like he stopped at one point, but with everything else going on, between working with Rizavi to mend the leak incident to smoothing things over with Keith, it felt secondary. Keith comes to all of his practices— which is impressive, considering Ryan likes to make them practice at ass o'clock in the morning but whatever— and all of their campus shows, _also_ impressive, considering how difficult it is to actually get a good view of the steppers.

 

(It's because Keith is a pusher. He will push you. And he will step on you.)  

 

  The stares begin to shift from disdain to jealousy, once people begin realizing that Keith, pretty much an outsider even in his own college, is fucking around with an alpha phi. And not just _any_ alpha phi, _Lance McClain._ Does he care? Not in the slightest. Do other people care? Yeah, and they’ll die mad about it.

 

 And with time, they get closer. Late night conversations get longer, deeper, even. Keith gets to see all the sides of Lance, including the ones Keith suspects he keeps on lock when he's with his frat , and Lance, slowly but surely, watches Keith open up to him. He _starts_ getting Keith gifts, but after watching the man almost _drop_ when he gets him a simple gold chain that says _McClain_ on it, he decides to keep the gifts to a minimum. He doesn't comment when Keith starts wearing it on a regular. You know. For his dignity's sake.

 

  By the time that the annual college stepping competition is only a month away, they're staying over each others places regularly. And maybe Keith allows himself to koala the man as he sleeps. And maybe sometimes, he has to physically bite his tongue, because when Lance smiles up at him with those stupid sleepy eyes, or groans as he tries to bury his face back in his pillow, and _especially_ when he's already fully awake, watching him wake up with the _dumbest_ smile on his face? He feels something in his chest that gets him thinking. Maybe he doesn't just _like_ Lance. Maybe there's something else there.

 

 But that's a different story.

  

  Now, in _this_ story, it's competition time. Lance's hands and feet are still ringing from the previous night's practice, lips still slightly swollen from when Keith had jumped on him right after to kiss him senseless. And other things, but they're not too relevant right now. Now, in this story, Lance, Ryan, and the rest of their frat are standing on stage, in front of thousands of people, to compete against other universities for the title of best steppers, and a phat check to take back home. The lights from up above makes him grin like an _idiot_ , leaves him searching the crowd for the one person he _really_ wants to see right now.

 

Lance finds him, eventually, because what other idiot would be screaming “ **_LANCE! LANCE!!”_ ** In the crowd other than _his_ idiot? They lock eyes, and Keith hoots and hollers, big smile stretched across his face. Lance swear his heart skips a beat, and he almost misses the announcer calling their frat name, only brought back by the sound of _hundreds_ of people cheering in response. Behind him, behind _everyone,_ stands Ryan, hands clasped in front of him, and his whistle in his mouth. He waits for the crowd to quiet down, and Lance can't help but snicker a little. If there's one thing Ryan knows how to do, it's to get his goddamn point across.

 

 The crowd falls silent with an air of confusion mixed with overwhelming anticipation. Now, if someone from the back were to drop so much as a ball of paper, it could possibly be heard throughout the room. Ryan inhales through his nose, and blows out a sharp, clean, _long_ dog whistle. Lance's feet begin to ring again.

 

 Two more, quicker this time. There's a whoop in the crowd. Hunk grinds his jaw beside Lance, fingers twitching with the need to move. _Lance's_ fingers twitching with the need to move.

 

And then, one more whistle, long and dragged out that unbinds them, that stops as everyone on stage stomps their foot hard enough to make the ground shake. The lights shine brighter, and Lance is all smiles again. _"Who are we?!"_  

 

   **_"Alpha phi!"_ ** Comes the sound of _hundreds_ of people, like the last part of a magic spell. Then Lance sucks in a deep breath, filling his lungs with oxygen, and when he exhales it’s in a _howl_ , loud and dragged out, head tilted up towards the ceiling. And when he’s done that’s their cue, every boy on stage yelling, “Alpha Phi Alpha!” And stomping their feet in rapid repetition against the ground, their boots meeting the stage with hard thumps that ring throughout the building, that resonate deep in their bones and vibrate through the rest of their limbs. With the stomping comes the smack of their hands against their chest and thighs, and they don’t _follow_ the beat, they _make_ it. They _are_ the music, and the crowd, cheering them on with loud hoots and hollers, is the melody.

 

 The floor shakes with every stomp on the stage, and Keith swears he can feel it in his _soul,_ and even though he doesn't look around, he knows that everyone around him feels it too. He's transported back to the night in the frat house, the night he met Lance, the cocky smirk and those hypnotic eyes that seemed to pin his heart in place. Those same eyes lock onto his, piercing into his very _being,_ and Keith's breath catches in his throat when he winks at him.

 

 There is a reason he's called Sharpshooter, after all.

 

The rest of the set goes without a hitch, evident in Lance's stinging feet and Keith's _very_ sore throat. It's not that much of a surprise when, at the end, Alpha phi Alpha is announced the winner. Keith still screams like it is, of course, like a good supportive boyfriend.

 

 Oh, yeah. They're boyfriends now.

 

"You did amazing, baby!" Keith yells when Lance makes his way off of the stage, laughing when he lifts him up off of the ground by his waist. He wraps his arms around his neck, only grinning even harder when warm hands slip lower to grip his thighs. "You know, a simple 'thank you' would've been fine—"

 

 He doesn't get a chance to finish, cut off by Lance's lips on his own. He's sweaty, and sticky and _gross,_ but Keith holds him tighter still, eagerly returning his kisses and fighting the dumb ass grin that threatens to take over his entire face. Lance pulls away first, and Keith immediately starts laughing. "Or that, that works too, I guess."

 

  "You know I'm bad with words," Lance teases with an easy smile, one that makes Keith's heart skip a _couple_ of beats in his chest. "I'd say I couldn't have done it without you, but I worked my _ass_ off for this."

 

     "So touching," Keith deadpans, but he's beaming anyways. "Either way, inspiration or no, I'm proud of you."

 

Lance smiles, the type of smile that makes Keith’s heart weak, all big and dopey and love sick. The look doesn’t leave his face, but an air of determination is added to it, and before Keith can ask what’s up Lance is already taking the initiative to explain himself.

 

“Don’t freak out on me, okay?” He asks as he lowers Keith down to his feet, brushing the boy’s bangs out of his face as he looks down at him. Keith’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, hands sliding down Lance’s chest to grip at the lapels of his jacket.

 

“I won’t freak out.” He promises, because really, he won’t. Not after everything they’ve been through.

 

Lance smiles, “I love you. You don’t have to say it back, I know it’s hard for you-mmf!” He doesn’t finish, Keith doesn’t let him, launching himself at the boy and smashing their lips together with a stupidly wide smile on his lips. They kiss, long and slow, like they have all the time in the world because at this point they’d might as well. They kiss until Keith’s lungs are screaming for oxygen, and even then, he only pulls away just slightly to murmur, “I love you too,” before diving back in for Lance’s lips.

 

Lance’s arms tighten around him, and the high from his win plus the high from their lips pressed together is enough to render both of them completely oblivious. Oblivious to the push and pull of the people around them, to the screams and cheers from the crowd, to the chanting of the frat name filling the room like a symphony. And Keith is even oblivious to the buzz of his phone in his pocket, signaling an incoming email.

 

_From:_ _AlluraPrince@hub.com_

_To:_ _K.Kogane@icloud.com_

_Re: Career Opportunity._

_Mr. Kogane,_

_Hello, my name is Allura Prince, I’ve recently come across the video of you and your companion on PornHub. Your video has done very very well, and me as well as a handful of other people are interested in further expanding your career. If you’re interested, please call me at the number listed below. I’d love to work out a contract with you and your friend._

_Sincerely,_

_Allura Prince_

 

It’s always awfully funny how things work out, isn’t it?

 


End file.
